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Vi^ 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 

A NEW AND FASCINATING NOVEL, • 

RICHARD VANDERMARCK. 

1 Vol. 18mo. Cloth, $1.50. 



ALSO, NEW EDITIONS, UNIFORM IN STYLE AND PRICE, 

Each 1 Yoi^ ISmo, $1.50 peb Vol., 



RUTLEDGE; 

THE SUTHERLANDS. 

ST. PHILIP'S. 



FRANK WARRINGTON. 
LOUIE'S LAST TERM. 
ROUNDHEARTS 



A ROSARY FOR LENT. 



THE 



SUTHERLANDS. 



BT TBK AUTHOR OP 



ELEVENTH EDITION. 



NEW YORK : 
CHARLES SCRIBNER & COMPANY, 

654 BROADWAY 
1871. 



ti 



\ 



:W 



THE NEW YOliK 

PUBLIC LIBRARY 



A8T0B, LfiNOX AND 

tILDEN PftUNDATlONS 

» L 



Emtersd according to Act of Congnress, in the year 1861, by 

BUDD &, CARLETON, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District 

of New York. 



Enterxd accordhig to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 

SIDNEY S. HARRIS, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



THE SUTHERLAKDS. 



-•-•■•- 



CHAPTER JL 

TITKSDAY IN WHITSUN-WEEK. 

'* What passion hangs these weights upon mj tongue f 
I cannot speak to him."— — — 

As Yon Like If. 

Tuesday in Whitsun-week, 1760, was no way inferior in 
point of sunniness and softness, to the Tuesday in Whitsun- 
week, 1 860 ; indeed, as the past must always win " a glory 
from its being far," perhaps it may safely be said to have 
been a sunnier and softer day than any we can find in the 
long string of "now-a-days" through which our own expe- 
rience reaches. There can, however, be no one to contra- 
dict the assertion that it was soft and sunny ; it cannot pos- 
sibly be proved that there was a cloud in the May sky, or 
that the sun went down with anything between him and the 
green earth but the faintest, lightest veil of haze, or that 
the tall poplars by the roadside did not throw their long 
shadows over greener fields than 1860 has seen, or is likely, 
with its drought and heat, to see ; or that the hawthorn 
hedges were not thick with blossoms, or the air sweet with 
sweetest flowers^ of early summer: it has won at least 

1* • 



10 THEBUTHEB1AND8. 

that glory from its being far, that no one can denj or dis- 
prove whatsoever may be said in its praise. 

The parish chiu'ch of Borringdon overlooked the village ; 
the eminence on which it stood was but a slight one, to be 
sure, but from the. church porch, when the trees in the 
churchyard were not in too full leaf, one could see at the 
left, the last straggling cottage on the broad village street, 
as it terminated at the entrance of Hiltonbury Park, and on 
the right, the winding of the river that cut it short on that 
hand. English villages can hardly help being pretty, 
even in these steam-factory days ; but in those, when the 
enterprise of a whole parish could vent itself in a trio of 
mills on the stream that wound through it, and beat out its 
strongest throes under the low shed of the village black- 
praith, it is easy to imagine how much of picturesqueness 
and beauty the repose and ruralness added. And on that 
particular evening, the village of Borringdon lay so quiet 
under the quiet sunset sky, that any part of it, seen from 
any point, would have made a pretty picture, and necessa- 
rily the whole, seen from the grey church porch, with the 
thick shade of the yews, and the dark stone church itself for 
a background, was fair and peaceful and picturesque in the 

extreme* 

Evening service was just over ; the slender congregation 
passed out and down the hill. Slender the congregation 
was on week-days, even then ; highdays and holydays, wed- 
dings and funerals, saw the church well filled with the well- 
dressed, decent, church going farmers and villagers of the 
neighborhood ; but the piety that can consecrate each day, 
instead of each Sunday, to the Lord of them all? — the piety 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 11 

that acknowledges no duty more binding than religious 
duty, no pleasure dearer than the pleasure of pleasing God, 
was rare, even then and even there. The parish school 
children, very glad to be released, bounded down the hill, 
the parish school teacher soberly followed, very glad too, 
perhaps ; three or four old men, and half a dozen sad-look- 
ing women came out slowly, the peaceful sei-vice just 
ended within, finding its continuance in the peaceful scene 
without. What quiet, subdued faces those were I Through 
age and poverty and plainness, the light within shone out ; 
they had learned the great lesson of self-abasement, of real 
renunciation of the world ; they had learned of Him who 
was meek and lowly in heart, and they had found rest unto 
their souls. 

A very different expression the face of the young lady 
wore who came out last, in her soft pink muslin dress and 
roseK5olored ribbons, holding her fan and Prayer-book in 
her hand. She was handsome and spiiited-looking, and her 
dark-brown eyes had much thought in them; but a shade of 
impatience and restlessness marred their light, and robbed 
her fine mouth of half its beauty. She stopped a moment 
in the porch ; it was strange that the sight of the sweet 
picture framed in its dark walls, did not carry into her soul 
something of its own peace. But it rather seemed to stir a 
conflict there, to rouse, by its contrast, all manner of unrest. 

Hers was not a face that told of much discipline; one 
would say she had had hardly any Past, hardly any pleasures 
that she valued, hardly any sufferings that she had not 
made for herself. But the sufferings that we make for our- 
selves are not unfrequently our severest sufferings ; God is 



12 TAB SUTHEBLANDB. 

much more merciful to us in the way of discipline than we 
are to ourselves. Here was a pleasant, smooth, sunny life, 
perfectly free, so far, from any outward trial, steadily shel- 
tered, prosperous and peaceful, but withal this girl had 
contrived to find no peace in it. The truth was, she was 
trying to do something quite beyond her power, to wit, get 
It right between serving God and loving the world. The 
strong religious instincts of her nature, the influences of her 
education, the stern rules of duty she had early learned, all 
held her in the path she recognized as right, but only by 
constraint, self-imposed but galling, only because she dared 
not leave it for the one she longed for. The " tinsel melo- 
dies of earth" were drowning the only music that could 
have satisfied such a soul as hers, the restlessness of ambi- 
tion was driving away the peace that hovered, scared, 
above it. The church-going, the duty-doing, in which she 
was so faithful, these were but the body of her religion ; the 
soul had not been breathed into it, the soul of love that 
would have given it a life, that would have transformed its 
cold obedience into Uving warmth. 

" We shall miss you much. Miss Georgy," said old Rich- 
ard Evaitson, holding open the gate for her. " You go to- 
morrow, they tell me at the Lodge." 

" Yes, to-morrow morning," she replied. " I shall leave 
some books for you with Adam ; you can send Letty for 
them any time you choose. I am sorry I could not bring 
them up to you myself." 

*' You are too kind, miss ; I am very grateful. 'Tisn't 
many young ladies going up to London their first year 
would think about the books an old man such fis nie would 



THB BIJTHEBLAND8; 18 

want. But you were always different, Miss Georgy. I 
wish you may enjoy yourself among the gay people . up 
there, and have all the pleasure you're looking for. There's 
a great many wishes it besides me." 

" Thank you, Richard," she said rather hurriedly, pas» 
ing out of the gate. " I don't know whether I look for 
much pleasure, but I hope it won't hurt me. Good bye." 

" What is that Richard is wishing you ?" said some one 
beside her, whom she had seen coming, for she did not look 
up, or seem surprised, only answered, as they walked on 
together : 

" 'All the pleasure I'm looking for.' How much is that, 
do you suppose ?" 

" It is beyond me to conjecture, I'm afraid. You are 
going to-morrow, it is settled, then ?" 

He looked at her for the first time, as he spoke, for an 
instant keenly, and the half hope that flashed through his 
eyes faded at her indifferent "yes." Indifferent, no doubt, 
he thought it ; he was apt to think she knew how to use no 
other tone to him. Proud people are sadly at the mercy 
of their pride, and can see nothing but as it dictates. 
Georgy 's face was not so perfectly indifferent as was her 
tone, or she never would have turned it away so quickly, 
and looked so intently across the river as they reached the 
bridge. There was nothing very novel in the river's flow 
that afternoon. The willows leaned over it, and dipped 
their drooping foliage in the water, the light breeze streaked 
it here and there with dark blue ripples, the sinking sun 
reddened and gilded it, the shadow of the bridge lay deep 
and still upon it — but Georgy knew all its moods by hearty 



14 THB SUfHEBLAKDS. 

and was not thinking of it then, for all her earnest 
gaze. 

The path they were following lay along the river's bank, 
tlirough what was called the Willow Walk, where the thick 
row of trees on one hand leaned over into the Briai-field 
pasture-ground, and on the other drooped down into the 
water, almost meeting overhead. Their talk, to a casual 
listener, would have seemed just the indifferent, unstudied 
talk of boy and girl — children who had sailed boats on this 
same stream together, and fished for minnows in it, as far 
back as their memories extended — who were too nearly of 
an age, and had been too intimately associated, to be care- 
ful of the impression they made upon each other by the 
words they used or the sentiments they acknowledged : but 
to one bent upon going below disguises, there would have 
been something in Georgy's averted eyes, and half uneasy 
manner, that would have suggested a doubt, if her com- 
panion's face had told no tales. 

At a first glance, it was difficult to determine Warren 
Sutherland's age. He looked almost a boy, but there was 
a depth of thought in his gi'ey eye, an intellectual refine- 
ment about the very exquisite beauty of his face, that 
belonged more to the man than to the boy. Something had 
developed him early — something had hurried him out of 
boyhood long before boyhood's healthy pleasures were 
eihausted. He had now, though but just of age, and hardly 
a year older than his companion, gained upon her all the 
distance that is generally accorded to her more rapidly 
maturing sex, and somewhat besides, perhaps. He was as 
disciplined and self-controlled as she was the reverse. Yet 



THE BUTHEBLANDS. 15 

one would haVe said, hers was the stronger nature of the 
two — certainly the more impulsive, the in tenser. What lay 
beneath his proud reserve and quiet self-control, but few 
had sounded ; her strength, and perhaps her weakness, were 
patent to the most careless observation. . 

Young Sutherland's face, though it had worn much the 
same look for the last year, was sadder and more thought- 
ful that afternoon than Georgy had ever seen it before. 
And well it might be. Hardly a fortnight had elapsed 
since his father's death — hardly a fortnight was to inteiTene 
before his own ordination, two things of moment enough to 
sober any man. The old home to be broken up, a new one 
to be found — change to come on things that had hitherto 
seemed changeless, since he could not remember when they 
had not been — the charge of his young sister — the new 
responsibility — the sorrow that would be always new — • 
these were making his heart heavy and his eyes sad. No 
wonder Georgy looked away from them when she rememr 
bered the different sort of life that would open for her 
to-morrow — the distance that it put between them ; and no 
wonder, either, that through it all those eyes haunted her 
reproachfully — ^that she neyer could forget them — ^that she 
never, in her life, forgot that walk through the Willows on. 
Whitsun-Tuesday evening. 

"Then you have not yet decided what you and Laura 
arc to do," she said at last, abruptly, leaving unfinished tlia 
commonplace subject that had just been occupying them. 

"No," he answered, almost as abruptly, though in a 
lower tone. "Nothing is decided yet. I cannot tell what 
we shall do." 



16 THB 8UTHSBLAND8. 

" There will not be any necessity for your leaving the 
Parsonage, though, I am sure," she went on, giving him 
a quick, inquiring glance. "You haven't thought of 
that ?'» 

Again he returned evasively that nothing was decided 
yet. 

" But," said the young lady, in the tone that was habitual 
to her when there was any unusual emotion to be covered, 
which emotion always covered itself with an unconscious 
imperiousness, " there can be no doubt my cousin means to 
give you the living — indeed, I have heard him say as much ; 
and in case he does, there can be no doubt about what you 
ought to do." 

** Can't there ?" he said quietly, but with an emphasis 
that brought the color to her face. 

" I mean," she went on almost angrily, " I mean it doesn't 
seem to me that there can be any doubt. Tour plans, of 
cfourse, I don't know anything of, nor your wishes, 
either ; but I know Laura wants to stay. I know it would 
be cruel to take her from the home she has always lived in, 
and where we're all so fond of her. If you don't care at 
all for yourself, I should think you would for her, and if my 
oousin offers you the living, the least you can do will be to 
accept it." 

"And if Sir Charles offers it to me, it is just possible I 
may not avail myself of it," he returned, with a cold, sharp 
Ting in his voice. 

" Well, as you will," she said, with a shrug of the shoul- 
ders. " I'm sorry for Laura, that's all." 

' You arc very kind, but I think Laura will do very well. 



THB 8UTHERLAND8. 17 

I am not sure that anything better than change of scene 
could be devised for her. The Parsonage can never be the 
same home to her again." 

"I know it," said Georgy, in a softer tone. "But I 
should think hers was a sadness that change could not help. 
There are some griefs one cannot leave behind." 

" Not leave behind, or lose sight of, but lighten for a 
moment, possibly." 

There was a pause, which Georgy broke by saying, 
almost timidly :. 

"But you won't think of any change at present — not 
before the autumn ?" 

" No ; I hardly think there will be anything definite this 
summer. Mr. Ralstone will be here till Christmas. You 
will be away through July ?" 

"Yes," Georgy said, recoveiing her usual manner, 
" through July, and possibly longer. There is some talk 
of my cousins going over to Paris for a few months, and 
they urge my going with them, but I doub^ if mamma 
consents. Though it will be such ^n advantage to me, I 
cannot see why she should oppose it." 

"An unspeakable advantage, certainly," he said care- 
lessly. 

" Of course it would ; I never have been anywhere ; never 
have seen anything. Twenty years of my life wasted in 
this dull place! You cannot blame me if I want to go. 
You cannot wonder " 

" I do not wonder," said Warren. " I only wonder you 
have been happy here so long. And as for blame — I long 
to go away too much myself to blame you." 



18 THE 8UTHBBLANDS. 

Georgy bent the fen she held in her hands unpatienUy. 
" You can understand my feelmgs, then," she said, 

" Yes, perfectly, I believe," he returned. 

The impatience of the hands that grasped the fan, at that 
moment proved fatal to the pretty thing ; it snapped sharp- 
ly, and looking down confused and angry, ^e saw that she 
had broken it quite in two, and with a quick gesture she 
threw the fragments out upon the stream. The heavy 
ivoiy half, fell with a plash some distance off, and sunk 
almost as it touched the water, but the lighter part, cupids 
and roses on gilt paper, lit nearer to the shore, and floated 
uncertainly for a few moments, then yielded to the current, 
drifted out into the stream, and downward slowly to^yard 
the sea. Warren's eyes were fixed upon it as they walked 
along ; neither spoke for some minutes, till the young lady 
rather hurriedly and awkwardly said, in a tone that was 
meant to be indifferent and easy : 

" That's too bad, Warren ; that's the fan you gave me on 
ray birthday. Upon my word, I didn't mean to." 

" Sir Charles will give you a finer, I have no doubt, if 
you spend your next birthday in Paris," Warren said so 
carelessly and coolly, Georgy hated herself for blushing at 
his words. But, in truth, it was the first allusion he had 
ever made to Sir Charles' evident and acknowledged admi« 
ration for her ; till now she had fancied his jealousy lay too 
deep for words, but she began to think perhaps there wasn't 
any jealousy, and she had deceived herself. 

'^ After all, he may not care," she thought, as they 
emerged from the Willow Walk into the road again. A 
few moments more brought them to a gate, which, while 



THB 8UTHEBLANDS. 19 

Warren iield open, Georgy entered, saying, as he did not 
follow, " Are you not coming in ? You know it is my last 
evening at home." 

But Warren was not coming in, it appeared ; he leaned 
for a few moments on the gate, and Georgy, playing with 
tlie sash at her waist, now that she had no fan to play with, 
talked idly of the journey to-morrow, and of a hundred 
other things of which she was not thinking. A sound of 
wheels caught her ear, and glancing up, she said quickly : 

" There's the Park carriage. Stay, Warren, and see my 
cousins. Ah, Sir Charles is following on horseback, I see," 
she added, glancing quickly at her companion's face, and 
blushing involuntarily. 

'* You must excuse me to them," he said, abruptly turn- 
ing away. ^^ I do not feel like meeting strangers just at 
pi-esent. Good night." 

" Good night and good bye," said Georgy as she held 
out her hand. He touched it for a moment, coldly and 
lightly, hardly glancing into her face as he repeated his 
good bye, and turned and left her. 

" What have I done ?" thought Georgy, with a pang, as 
she watched him walk rapidly across the road and enter 
the Willow Walk. When he was with her, Georgy was 
always wondering whether he cared for her, generally 
concluding he did not, and she had been a fool ever to 
think he did ; the moment he left her the doubt left her 
too ; she had been a fool to be so blind, she knew he loved 
her; there was nothing she could remember in all their 
intercourse that did not go fully to assure her of it. 

So, during the two minutes and a half that he was in 



20 THB SUTHEBLANDB. 

right after he had said good bye, a strong rush of sel5 
reproach, doubt, remenabrance, came over her, and she 
started forward and half pushed open the heavy gate, and 
half called, " Warren I" 

How cruel, how wrong to let him go so, even if they 
were nothing but the merest friends — ^to be separated for 
months, perliaps — and he in trouble, too. What would 
Laura say. Oh, Laura had always thought that she was 
worldly — but she wasn't ; no, at that moment, if she had 
been sure he loved her, if he had only used the power he 
never guessed at, by reason of that blinding pride of his, he 
could have won her from the worldliness he accused her 
of, and which had kept them apart so long. 

If he had once looked back, he would have seen the 
whole story in her face and attitude ; but he did not turn, 
and with a half sigh she drew back, and let the gate 
swing to again. What a grating, cold sound it had as it 
fell into its place : " No, I won't be such a fool," thought 
Georgy, bravely, glancing down the road at the approach- 
ing carriage with a resolute composure, but with a cold, 
dull pain at her heart. "Pm glad he didn't hear; I'm 
glad he's gone. It's better as it is." 

The sunset was fading out of the sky ; the faint opal lost 
its hue almost as she gazed ; and the tender grace of that 
diiy was dead to her forever. 



CHAPTER II. 

A DEAD DAT. 

** And the stately ships go on 

To their haven under the hill ; 
. But ch, for the touch of a vanished hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still. 

** Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thy crags, oh Sea ! 

. But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me." 

Tennyson. 

** Geoegy, you should never wear anything but white 
and cherry," said Lady Frances, lookmg at her cousin with 
good-natured admiration. 

"That's what I've been telling her," said Ellinor, the 
younger sister, moving toward the piano, but looking up 
again at the new comer after she had seated herself at it. 
" It's just the thing for her complexion. I never saw her 
look better than she does to-day." 

" Jfe•c^, mille fois, mesdames^^^ said Georgy, stooping 
over Lady Frances, and kissing her lightly on the fore- 
head. 

The ladies were in the drawing-room at Portland Place^ 
awaiting the arrival of expected guests to dinner, and 
Georgy sat down by the open window, fresh from a delibe* 
rate, successful toilet, and a luxurious idle pleasant day, 
with the prospect of a delightful evening before her, with 

91 



22 THESUTHEBLANDS. 

the consciousness of acknowledged beauty, the sense of 
power, the certainty of success. 

What a pleasant sort of place the world was, after all. 
She began to wonder what made people so afraid of it. 
She was sure, now that she was in it, she was just as good 
as when she was at home^ She never niissed her prayers, 
or forgot to read tlie Psalms, no matter what time she 
came home at night, and she went out regularly to church 
with her maid, long before her cousins were up in the 
morning. She was quite certain all this showed she was 
unhurt by what had formerly looked so dangerous, and she 
was unconsciously sliding into a complacency and uncon- 
cern, as treacherous as new to her. 

Her position at Portland Place certainly was a very 
pleasant one. Lady Frances was young enough and 
pleasure-loving enough to make her brother's house an 
expeedingly agreeable one. Her father had died before 
she was married, and she had only been a widow a year, 
when her mother's death left vacant the place that she now 
filled so well. Lady Frances being a clever, kind, easy- 
going person, had very cheerfully taken upon herself all the 
responsibility that the care of her young brother, not yet 
of age, and her little sister Ellinor, involved her in, having 
good sense enough to know, the benefits conferred by the 
position more than balanced the trouble that it brought. 
It was a much better thing to be the mistress of Hilton- 
bury Park and the Portland Place house, than to be poor 
Tom Osborne's widow, an unobtrusive member of her 
tather-in-law's by no means luxurious establishment. 

To tell the truth. Lady Frances had not married very 



THE STJTHEELANDS. 23 

well, and though she had taken a good deal of pain% with 
Ellinor, Ellinor was not going to marry well either. It 
would have made old Sir Harry growl thunder in his grave, 
if he could have seen the sort of match his eldest dausrhtei 
had made, and the sort of matches his secpnd daughter, and 
his son and heir, proposed making. Ellinor was engaged lo 
marry a young German count, who had made love to her 
the year before when they were abroad, who sang divinely 
well, but who did nothing else, divinely or humanly 
well, and >vhose possessions were as intangible as his 
talents. And Sir Charles proposed marrying his cousin. 

Lady Frances, being several years older than her 
brother, and a good deal wiser, saw his folly, and did as 
much as she could to prevent it. But it was not upon 
record that any one had ever succeeded in preventing 
Sir Charles from domg anything he had set his heart upon 
doing, and upon marrying his cousin, he certainly had set 
his heart. He came quite honestly by his self-will and self- 
indulgent temper, and entered openly upon that portion of 
his inheritance long before he was of age, and even before 
his jDredecessor had quitted the estate. If Sir Harry had 
lived, "there would have been a tussle for it," as old 
Richard said, before either would have given up, but the 
chances were, the senior would have won the day, or at 
least have held the younger one in check. Unfortunately 
for the boy, however, he was left early with a field before 
him, cleared of all hindrances to the indulgence of his self- 
will, and he grew up precisely the sort of man that might 
have been expected. Sufficiently good-natured not to bully 
when there was no need for it (and no one ever had less 



24 THEBUTHBELAND8. 

need], he just quietly did as he wanted to, always, under all 
circumstances, making no account of the wills that died to 
feed his, and keeping steadily in view his own advancement 
and advantage. 

The only one of all the woraenkind at homo who had 
ever dared show any opposition to him, had been his 
cousin Georgy, and this circumstance, together with her 
beauty, and the resistance of his family, made him 
thoroughly in earnest to obtain her hand. He never 
doubted his success, such a doubt lay on the side of 
absurdity; but there were just obstacles enough in the 
path to give it a spice of adventure and to make it 
acceptable to his blase taste, palled with the too ready 
submission of all around him, Mrs. Gregory, he knew, 
could not long resist the temptation of seeing Georgy 
mistress at Ililtonbury Park, however stoutly she might 
oppose it now, on grounds of pride and conscience. For 
old Su* Harry had been none too tender a kinsman, and 
none too delicate in expressing his mind, and had said, 
many years before, when the question of Georgy's being 
educated at the Park with Chai'les and Ellinor, had been 
raised and put down, the girl might have come, and 
welcome, if she hadn't been so deuced good-looking ; but 
he'd seen enough of cousins being thrown together*, and, 
for the matter of that, he thought Margery Gregory had 
too ; and he only wished he might see his boy looking 
once at any beggarly cousin, and he'd disinherit him before 
he was a day older. 

Poor Mrs. Gregoiy : there was more in that hit about 
the cousins than met the ear. If what the local gossips said 



THE SUTHEELANDB. 25 

was true, she had been the first and firm choice of Sir 
Harry's older brother, who was only stopped by death 
from mariying her through all the opposition of his high- 
handed family. Sir Harry never forgave her the alarm she 
had given them, and the narrow escape he had had ; and 
though, years after, when she was left a widow with one 
child and a pinchingly small income, he had had the 
humanity to offer her the rent of the Briarfield farm, he 
never could quite overcome his suspicion and dread of her 
as a dangerous and incendiary person. 

It must be confessed, seeing how things had developed 
in later years, there seemed more of the spirit of prophecy 
in this apprehension of the old man's, than one would have 
supposed could have resided in such a portly, plethoric 
person, and such a beer-befogged intellect as his. At all 
events. Sir Charles the younger was fallen into the same 
snare that had involved Sir Charles the elder, and was 
about to sacrifice all matrimonial ambition for the love 
of his pretty, penniless cousin. Lady Frances had given 
up all opposition long ago, and now furthered her brother's 
suit very submissively, and made a great deal of Georgy, 
partly with a dutiful view of pleasing him, and partly with 
a prudential desire of propitiating the future Lady of 
Hiltonbury. And as for Ellinor, she was in that stage of 
romantic enthusiasm about her German lover, that tshe 
would have despised any one who would have thought ot 
marrying sensibly and advantageously, and gave her 
brother her most ardent sympathy, and lavished upon 
Georgy all manner of endearments. 

In this way the young lady's position in the family was 

2 



26 THE SUTHEBLAND8. 

made a very agreeable one, and one which she could not 
well help enjoying. Not that she meant to marry Sir 
Charles — at least not now, though it was very pleasant to 
keep that fine picture of future glory in view and think of 
it covertly; and not, either, that she had altogether forgot- 
ten Warren and the walk through the Willows on Whitsun- 
Tuesday evening ; but, somehow, there was nothing very 
much to call that romance into recollection, and it was not 
quite convenient to think of it at Portland Place, where 
there were so many other things to think of, and where it 
seemed in a measure treasonable to think of it, when her 
cousins did not know of its existence, in fact, thought her 
head filled with a very different fancy. Besides, in a short 
time she should be at Briarfield again — two weeks at far- 
thest — if mamma did not consent to the Paris plan, and 
then she could think as much as she pleased of it. So she 
let herself be entertained and amused, and the days were 
slipping away in a very delightful manner amid the fascina- 
tions of the gayest London society, till that eventful even- 
ing when Georgy came into the drawing-room early, looking 
prettier than a picture, in cherry and white. 

Sir Charles did not take her down to dinner himself, but 
he delegated that office to a very safe person, to wit, his 
much lauded friend, Mr. Edward Barclay, a young lawyei 
of great promise just established in his profession; but of 
so much more promise than performance, that no one could 
accuse Sir Charles of temerity in allowing him Georgy 's ear 
.and hand for that brief space. The truth was, Mr. Barclay 
never had been, and never could be, a lady's man ; good 
looking, sensible and well-informed, he lacked whatever it 



Ctf* 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 27 

is that makes a man a favorite among women ; confidence, 
perhaps, and a deisire for their admiration, the quality that 
is coquetry in a woman; and so he was overwhelmingly 
popular with all young men, who took him enthusiastically 
into the bosom of their families, and wondered loudly why 
their sisters didn't fall in love with him, and introduced 
him unhesitatingly to their fiancees^ and were sure that 
thQvr fiancees would be bored. 

Georgy's neighbor on her other hand, was a dull divine 
who had in some way drifted into the current of the Port- 
land Place hospitality, and not unfrequently enjoyed a meal 
at its expense, whose taciturnity and tiresomeness had 
passed into a proverb with the ladies, and at sight of whose 
propinquity Georgy had made a well-bred, well-concealed 
grimace at her cousin, and then had graciously begun to 
entertain him. But with Mr. Barclay on one side, and 
Dr. Drawl on the other, what wonder that her smiles soon 
began to fail and her vivacity to flag? She took to listening 
to the other people, and wondering at Sir Charles' spirited 
conversation. 

"He is cleverer than I thought," she pondered, as the 
young host, feeling safe about her, blockaded as she was, 
and seeing her half-admiring eyes turned from her stupid 
neighbors to his face, grew clever and complacent, and 
talked better than he had ever done before. Mrs. Erastus 
Randall, a delightfully worldly, witty person, was keeping 
him up to the effort, and Georgy, feeling she had done her 
duty in trying to " make talk " with her neighbors, dropped 
them altogether, and amused herself with the conversation 
at the other end of the board. 



28 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

Dinner was more than half over, when, in a momentary 
lull of talking, Dr. Drawl, who had been gathering himself 
up for the effort for some time, said to his host in his slow, 
strong voice, which boomed heavily across the temporarily 
silenced table : 

" That young man of whom you spoke to me some time 
ago, I see by the papers, sailed yesterday. I suppose he 
told you, I got him the appointment you wanted from the 
Society. I had no trouble. The bishop thinks very well 
of him." 

There was nothing in the reverend gentleman's commu- 
nication to excite any particular interest in Georgy's mind, 
but there was something to excite it in her cousin's man* 
ner ; he glanced involuntarily and uneasily toward her, and 
hurried to change the conversation. "What was it that he 
did not want Dr. Drawl to talk about ? But Dr. Drawl 
saved her the trouble of much wonder on the subject, for 
he had no mind to change the conversation : having been 
all this while loading his gun, nothing should stop him 
from firing it off. 

" The venerable Society," he said, " have appointed him 
oatechist to the Indians and negroes in the vicinity of New 
York, and assistant minister of Trinity Church. I should 
have thought a living might have been obtained for him at 
home, seeing he is a young man of very considerable 
promise ; but his mind seemed so set that way, and you, 
sii', seemed so to desire his appointment to the mission, 
that I did everythmg in my power to promote your 
views." 

"You are speaking of young Sutherland?* said Mr. 



THE BU THERLAHDS. 29 

Barclay, rousing, and looking across Georgy to the doctor, 
who had now got fairly under weigh. 

" The same," he answered. " Son of the late Rector ol 
Borringdon — a very old friend of mine." , 

" You can't mean Warren ?" faltered Georgy, involun- 
tarily. 

"Warren — yes, it strikes me that is the name," he 
repeated. " Warren — that was it, was it not. Sir Charles ?'» 

" Yes," answered Sir Charles faintly, " he has given up 
the living I offered him, and gone to America. He has 
relatives there, I believe." 

" Warren Sutherland gone to America !" cried Ellinor. 
** Why, how odd you never told us anything about it !" 

"If you had as much to think about as I have, you 
wouldn't wonder I forgot it," returned her brother, with 
as much of a snarl as a man can allow himself at tho 
head of his own table, and with two rows of disinterested 
eyes upon him. 

" But Where's Laura ? What's become of Laura ?" went 
on Ellinor, with unfortunate curiosity. 

"I can't say. I believe she's gone with him. I think 
he told me she was going," said Sir Charles, doggedly 
and with a lowering brow, for he had caught a sight of 
Georgy's face. 

" A trying voyage and a strange home for so young and 
delicate a lady," Dr. Drawl resumed, by way of making 
himself agreeable. " But the young man teUs me she will 
not consent to be separated from him, and as he has deter, 
mined upon making the New World his home, it was 
apparently the wiseist plan for them to go together." 



80 THE BUTHEBLANDS. 

" She's a brave girl !" cried Mrs. Randall with a shivor 
** She hasn't my prejudice against scalping, I am sure." 

" But when do they mean to return ?" persisted EUinor. 

"Never, I fancy," returned the reverend doctor, com- 
fortably. "He says they have no .ties in England, that 
they are going to make a home for themselves there. I 
was quite interested in the young man." 

" At any rate, Laura might have come to tell us good 
bye, I think," said EUinor. 

At this moment Lady Frances made a hasty effort to 
divert the talk into another channel, and succeeded in lead« 
ing even the clumsy ecclesiastic after her. 

Mr. Barclay, however, at home on the deserted subject, 
and seeing perhaps that his neighbor was at home on it too, 
tarned to her and said : 

" You know Sutherland, then ? He was a friend of mine 
at Oxford ; there wasn't a better fellow there. It's a burn- 
ing shame he's gone off to bury himself in that dismal 
wilderness ; he has first-rate talents, and might have done 
well at anything." 

"Was his going sudden?" Georgy asked, but so low 
Mr. Barclay had to ask her to repeat it. 

"I don't know, but I rather fancy it must have been* 
I had a letter from him about ten days ago, saying he had 
made up his mind to accept the appointment, and would 
hope to see me in London at this time." 

" And you saw him ?" 

" Oh yes, several times. He was in the city nearly a 
week. I went down to the ship yesterday to see him off; 
and, upon my word, I never felt much worse. You see, 



THE faUTHERLANDS. 31 

Sntherlaud never has been very robust, and lie looks 
dreadfully now. And it's such a risky thing, such a 
voyage as this, anyhow. Parting with a friend in that 
sort of a way is all one with saying good bye to him for- 
ever — there isn't one chance to a hun^^'ed we'll ever meet 
again.. He never means to come back to England, and 
nothing's further from my intention than going to America. 
And that poor young lady, his sister — you know her. Miss 
Gregory ? She was as white as the wall. I saw it nearly 
killed Sutherland every time he looked at her, but sh 
kept up wonderfully, and never shed a tear or gave way 
In the least." 

Georgy was very still through the hour that remained of 
that long dinner, and sat silent, turning over the leaves of 
a book during the time the ladies spent alone in the draw- 
ing-room; but just before the gentlemen came up, she 
whispered some excuse to Lady Frances, and went out of 
the room. 

Sir Charles glanced eagerly and angrily around as he 
entered, and Lady Frances felt a dull foreboding of evil as 
she read his face ; even Ellinor grew nervous and ill at ease 
as she glanced at him. Georgy did not reappear, and 
while Lady Frances presented her excuses as plausibly as 
possible, she was in an agony till she should be free to go 
to her. When at length her visitors departed and she 
found herself at liberty to leave the drawing-room, she did 
not wait for Sir Charles' sign, but huriied up to Georgy's 
door. 

Entering softly, she started to find a trunk dragged into 
the middle of the room, and dresses thrown around as if a 



8S THE BUTHEKLANDB. 

hasty departure were designed, while Georgy herself, lying 
face downward on the bed, neither moved nor spoke when 
she approached her, and repeated her name gently. 

Sitting down by her on the bed, Lady Frances drew one 
of the hands that ^yere clasped above her forehead toward 
her, and stooping over her, whispered: 

" Why Georgy, child, what does this mean ? What are 
you doing ? Why are your trunks out ? Is anything the 
matter ?" 

" Oh, Frances," said the girl, raising herself and speak- 
ing quickly, " I must go home — I must go to-morrow ; you 
must let me. Don't say anything against it. I shall die if 
I can't get to mother. Oh, mother, mother I" And a 
burst of sobs wound up the homesick cry of wretched- 
ness. 

" Why Georgy, darling," said Lady Frances, putting her 
arm around her, and speaking soothingly, " I can't bear to 
see you cry so. Tell me what it is. Perhaps I can help 
you." 

" Help me — oh !" And with a miserable groan she hid 
her face again. Lady Frances had an uncomfortable appre- 
hension of what the truth really was, and she almost 
dreaded to hear Georgy's confession ; so she only smoothed 
back the heavy, fallen hair from her forehead, and spoke to 
her caressingly, but not questioningly. 

" You are a little homesick to-night," she said. " Tou'ii 
feel differently to-morrow. Let Janet come and put your 
things away and undress you, and I will put on my peignoir 
and come and sit by you till you get asleep. Tour fore* 
head is so hot ; poor child I What could have brought on 



THE 8UTHEELANDS. 33 

such a headache? Let me go and get sonrething trfbatho 
your temples with.'* 

But Georgy shook her head and said brokenly, " I don't 
want anything. Don't send Janet ; I don't want anybody 
to come in the room. I can do everything myself. It's all 
nearly packed." 

" But, my dear child," said Lady Frances, uneasy lest 
the idea of going home should get too strong a hold of her, 
**but, my dear child, we cannot let you go. We shall 
stupefy to death without you; you are the life of the house, 
Charles thinks, and Ellinor and I can't possibly do any- 
thing right when you're away. And everything's so 
pleasant now ! There's Lady Bellenden's ball day after 
to-morrow, and the opera, and Sir Arthur's dinner. Oh, 
you can't go, Georgy !" 

** Oh, don't," she cried in agony, as if the very sound 
was pain. "Don't — don't talk about those things. Ob, 
how I hate them all I If I had never come — if I had only 
stayed at Briarfield I Oh, I have deserved it all, but it is 
too cruel ! I can't — can't bear it !" 

Her passionate wretchedness quite terrified her quiet, 
nnexcitable auditor ; and, imcomfortable and uneasy, Lady 
Frances said hesitatingly, "I'm very sorry for you. If 
I only knew what made you so unhappy, perhaps I 
could " 

"Shall I tell you what it is that makes me so?^* 
exclaimed the girl, starting up and pressing her hand to 
her forehead, while she spoke with a hurried vehemence of 
manner and a terrible actuality of suiFering that made 
Lady Frances more than uncomfortable and uneasy. " ShalJ 

2* 



8i THE 8UTHEELANDB. 

I tell you what I'\''e done ? I've killed myself— I've killed 
my own happiness forever. I've just got to repent—-* 
repent — all my hopeless life. I've just got to go on, horrid 
years perhaps, as deadly wretched as I am to-night ; 
remembering always that I've done it all myself, that my 
worldliness has brought it on me ; that I've given up the 
man I love for a moment's vanity and folly that all eternity 
can't cancel — all eternity can't bring me back. Oh ! I've 
thought I was serving God all this while — I never dreamed 
how I was living. I see it all now — I never knew myself 
before. Frances, did you ever feel as if you were going 
mad ? I feel so to-night. At the table, and till I got up 
here, it was all like a dream. I don't think I knew at all 
what anybody said or did. All I felt was, I must keep 
myself from crying out or saying anything strange — ^must 
be still and not think till I was by myself. Oh, Frances ! 

after that " 

And, shuddering, she sank down by her cousin and hid 
her face upon her shoulder. She had been all her life, in 
exemption from suffering and in affectionate protection 
from annoyance, such an entire child, that in this, her first 
real vivid pain, though it hurried her into the sternest 
stage of womanhood at one step, she still craved hungrily 
the pity and caressing that had soothed childhood's trou- 
bles. Poor girl ! she found that this pain went a little 
too deep for such healing. She lay for a few minutes quiet, 
with her cousin's arms around her, trying to listen to her 
well-meant sympathy and to be comforted by its assu- 
rances ; then, stung by some new phase of the trial thai 
had but just begun, and in which each day she lived she 



•THE' SUTHEELANDS. 35 

would discover some fresh sting, she started i.p, and tv ith 
her hands pressed before her face, paced hurriedly up and 
down the room. 

" Oh, isn't it cruel," she burst out, " isn't it unjust, that 
for a sin not half intended — almost unconsciously com- 
mitted, one should be punished a whole life-time ?" 

" Hush, Georgy," said Lady Frances, vaguely shocked at 
her rebellion. " You know we must submit " 

" Submit !" she cried, her eyes flaming passionately ; 
"how can I submit to what is just a long horrible death — 
how can I submit never to see him again — never — never 
to Oh, God help me !" 

" Georgy, my child," said Lady Frances, anxiously, 
" don't talk so, you'll feel differently in a little while about 
it. It is natural you should feel so at first, but it will go 
over by and by. Don't let anybody but me hear you — 
think how you'd feel to have anybody know it." 

" I don't care who knows it," she exclaimed. " I don't 
care what the world thinks now. I've cared too long. It 
may know and gloat over what it has made me do. I'vo 
done with it forever I" 

" Hush, hush, child. Think of poor Charles, think how 
wretched it would make him to hear all this." 

" Sir Charles must never attempt to speak to mo again. 
I will never see him. I cannot bear to hear his name. I 
am trying my best to forgive him, but he must never come 
near me — it would kill me to see him. He must never 
speak to me again." 

" Georgy !" 

'* I can't help it. God knows I try not to hate him ; 



86 THE 8 D T E E B L«A N D S.' 

you must tell him I prayed from the first mmute to be able 
to forgive him, and in time I know I shall ; but he must 
keep away — he must never let me see him." 

'' But Georgy " 

" Don't talk about it, Frances, and don't look so hurt. 
You know I love you just the same — and you have always 
been so kind I But I never could have married Charles, 
even if he had not done this thing. I used to think about 
it sometimes, and imagine I could learn to like him ; but I 
couldn't. I know I couldn't when it came to marrying 
him, even if I had not known Warren. It was very 
wrong to l^t you imagine there was any chance, very, very 
wicked — ^but this is my punishment, and oh Frances, isn't 
it hard enough I Don't be angry with me I Don't turn 
away! Oh, you ought to pity me, you never suffered 
anything like this ! If I could only die." 

And she flung herself upon the bed with a hopeless 
misery that went to Lady Frances' heart, heavy as it was 
now with forebodings of the storms that this must breed, 
and of the painful scenes that this one was the precursor of. 
How it would all end she did not dare to think : how Sir 
Charles would bear the thwarting, even for a moment, of 
his pampered will — ^what Georgy must pass through before 
she submitted to it, she did not trust herself to fancy. 

"Poor child!" she thought with a sigh, as she left her 
late in the night, quieter, either from exhaustion or submis- 
sion. " She has a hard lot before her either wAy. Heaven 
help her through it T' 



CHAPTER in. 

TIIB NEW HOME IN THE NEW WOKLT>. 

*' Fair scenes for childhood^s opening bloom, 
For sportive youth to stray in ; 
For manhood to enjoy his strength, 
And age to wear away in !'* 

Wordsworth. 

Supper was late in being served to the men that evening 
at the Sutherland farm : there had been a threatening of 
rain about three o'clock, and all hands had been hurried 
off to the thirty-acre lot below the creek, to help 
bring in the heavy crop of hay that lay there ; the great 
wagons hM come home groaning with its weight, and 
now stood around the farmyard, mountains of promise 
and future comfort to the patient beasts, who, released 
and resting, were enjoying their well-earned meal in peace, 
while their no less patient guides and counsellors were 
enjoying theirs in the wide, low kitchen of the large stono 
house that stood at the right of the farmyard and somewhat 
elevated above it. 

The threatening of rain had not been fulfilled, and the 
Bun had just gone down from a particularly unclouded 
and finely colored sky, leaving the farmers in good temper 
on account of to-morrow's promised haying, and the whole 
landscape in a mellow, golden, luscious glow. 

The negroes were evidently enjoying their supper • good, 

87 



38 THE SUTHEELANDS. 

strong, likely men they were, too, fit to work such a farm 
as Ralph Sutherland's, and no doubt they worked it well, 
considering just the sort of master ihey had ; for if the 
neighbors knew anything about it, Ralph Sutherland's 
negroes were the best fed, the best housed, and the hardest 
worked in all the country round. At any rate, they were 
having a good time of it that night, if they had had hard 
work of it that day, and old Salome, ladling out a third 
trencher of succotash from the great pot over the fire, 
growled at them for their greediness, and they " he-he-d " 
their low negro chuckle back at her from over their 
replenished bowls. 

Through the door that opened into the apartment 
beyond, however, at this sound, there issued a much more 
portentous growl, whereupon Salome, waving her ladle 
threateningly, waddled over to the door, and shut it, 
saying — 

"There, ye noisy niggers! D*ye hear that? Te'll 
have the Massa 'bout yer years afore ye know it." 

"And he's next worst to Slomy's ladle!" chuckled 
Dave. 

"No, no," snickered a lithe lad of twelve from the 
hearth. " Massa's a heap worse'n Slomy. We could git 
to the tavern'n back and git old Martin's porridge off his 
fire *fore Slomy'd got across the kitchen arter ye; but 
Massa ! he'd know what ye*s at a'most afore ye knowed 
yerself, and wouldn't he come down thwack !" 

" Oh you — sarpint !" cried Salome, lunging at him across 
the hearth in great wrath, for the young rascal had taken 
the occasion of her journey to the door to replenish his 



THE BUTHEELAND8. 39 

bowl largely from the pot, and was now enjoying it 
ostentatiously, stopping on his way to the table to take a 
sip at it, dodging dexterously the heavy ladle, and swinging 
himself round the corner and into his seat before it was 
within reach of him again. 

" O you chile of the Evil One hisself !" panted out 
Salome, sinking into a seat beside the fire. " You take my 
word for it, you'll come to grief yet." 

"We'll be well off ef he don't take some of us along with 
him," said Dave, looking half distrustfully at the impish 
Indian boy, a third of whose lean, lithe body seemed at 
this time to have disappeared into his bowl. 

*' Well, it does 'pear to me," said old Rube, and he was 
the most conservative and temperate man at the table, 
" that that 'ere Amen is the worst boy I ever come at yet. 
What the Massa seed in him worth buyin' I never hov 
foun' out." 

" D'ye hear that, ye limb I" cried his neighbor, lifting 
him up by the shoulder, and giving him a shake. 

The truth was, Amen was far from popular among his 
comrades. The master had purchased him about a year 
before, at a bargain, from a Yankee preacher abroad on his 
travels ; whose travels were undertaken, Salome had 
always maintained, for the simple purpose of getting rid 
of the little imp he had succeeded in saddling them with, 
and who, she was dead certain. '* he'd have been glad to 
have given away, ef Massa hadn't been such a tamal fool 
as to ha' bought him." 

Besides his natural disposition, which was one calculated 
to create a prejudice even in an unbiased mind, his Eastern 



40 THE 8UTHEKLANDS. 

extraction went very much against him among all the 
slaves, for being strongly tinctured with the good old 
Dutch conservatism of the neighborhood, they held in great 
abomination that innovating and gouging crew who ten* 
anted the adjacent States, and from nutmegs to niggers, 
distrusted everything emanating from that quarter. Amen 
was as bad as bad could be, however, and did not need this 
prejudice to secure for himself the entire detestation of his 
fellows, and, if the truth could have been arrived at, per- 
haps the slight disgust of his master — ^for in point of utility, 
no one could deny, he wasn't worth his salt, and work to 
the value of a dollar had never been got out of him in all 
the year he had encumbered the Sutherland farm. But 
Ralph was not the man to own up, even if he had been 
taken in, and grumbled Jess at, and beat not much more 
frequently, this sorry bargain than more valuable posses- 
Bions. 

Before supper was over. Amen had committed another 
extravagance, and created another disturbance, which this 
time was succeeded by the opening of the sitting-room 
door, and the appearance of a slim, pretty looking mulatto 
girl, who closed it carefully behind her, and holding up her 
finger, said softly : 

*' You'd best take care, you Amen, and the rest o' you 
niggers. Massa's awful riled to-night. He's swearin' 
dreadful at the noise. Salome, any more cakes for Massa 
Larry ?» 

"Oh, yes, Massa Larry, Maasa Larry! nothin' too good 
for Massa Larry !" growled Salome, turning the last cake 
of the griddleful she had been perfecting for him for the 



THE SUTHERLAND8. 41 

past tcii minutes. " Nattee thinks if Massa Larry has hia 
full, taint no odds if we all stai-ve on corn-cobs." 

Nattee laughed a low laugh, and picking up the plate, 
went back into the room with it, closing the door carefully 
behind her, but giving an admonitory glance back upon the 
feasters before she did it. The table on which she set the 
plate was a well covered and abundant one, rather super- 
fluously so, it might be thought, seeing only three people 
sat down to it, but then two of the three were men fresh 
from the hay-field, and one of them, Lawrence Sutherland, 
the only child of Ralph, and the heir apparent of all this 
comfortable estate, was such a tall, strong, broad-chested 
fellow, that nothing that the table bore seemed too prodi- 
gal or too generous for him. He said, " Ah, Nattee 1" in 
a tone of satisfaction as she set the cakes before him, and 
applied himself to them, as he did to whatever he under- 
took, with an honest good will and an unblushing appetite. 
Nattee looked on with pleasure, while his mother watched 
his every movement with a trembling affection that was 
almost painful. 

. Indeed, though, it was not very wonderful she watched 
him, he was a much pleasanter thing to watch than her 
lord and master opposite. How such a thin, bent, grey, 
ill-favored man, came to have such a fine, browned, well- 
made, manly-looking son, was subject of more legitimate 
marvel. Larry's hair was light, and lay in short, loose 
curls about his head, his eyes were blue, and his skin 
smooth and fresh, though browned with much exposure to 
the sun ; his mouth was an exceedingly handsome mouth, 
capable of a very fine smile ; but when there was no smile 



4:2 THE StTTHEBLANDS. 

upon it, there was something about its firm lines, as well 
as about the steady look of the blue eyes, that suggested a 
will that did not bear opposition, and the better part of 
valor hinted the futility of dashing one's self against such a 
rock as that, which, though it was not a frowning angry 
ledge, but a clear, bold crystal, was still a rock for a 
that. 

He was evidently a good son, though, for all his spoiling, 
at least to his mother, for his voice was many tones softei 
whenever he addressed her, and his manner had a sort of 
half chiralrous, half affectionate protection. Mrs. Suther- 
land had probably been a beautiful woman in her youth, 
.but her youth lay many long years back in the past, accord- 
ing to the accepted signs, for her hair was very white, and 
her figure slightly bent and trembling, but her eyes were 
large, and brown, and soft, and her skin fresh as a girPs, 
She was surely a very gentle woman, perhaps a woman 
wanting in force of character, rather timid and undecided, 
for there seemed a habitual flutter about her movements, 
and a vague alarm in her soft eyes, that hardly ever lefb 
them. Hers seemed an affectionate and trusting nature', 
bent under a life-long bondage, dependent, from its gen- 
tleness, on some will at once tyrannical and rudely capri- 
cious. 

She gave her directions to !N"attee in a low, almost a 
meek tone ; she spoke to Larry more with her eyes than 
her voice, but when she answered or addressed her hus- 
band, it was plain to see the struggle that eyes and voice 
Were involved in. 

There was not much talking at the table that night, 



THE BUTHEBLANDS. ^ 43 

The master of the family, for some cause, was gloomier and 
blacker than was his wont, and that is saying that he was 
very gloomy and hlack indeed. Before the meal was over, 
Nattee, by some hasty movement, was so unhappy as to 
disi^lease him, and he lifted his grizzled, bent head up from 
his plate, and growled such a threat at her as sent her 
trembling to the furthest corner of the room. Mrs. Suther 
land tried not to look as if she pitied her, or was frightened 
herself, but she looked both very unmistakably, and her 
hands fluttered nervously about among the tea-things, with- 
out accomplishing anything but an exasperating racket, 
which did not seem to soothe her husband ; for raising his 
head presently, he said, half turning toward the corner 
where the girl stood trembling : 

*' Go down into the lot and catch Grey Dirck, and if he's 
not saddled and ready for me by the time I'm ready for 
him, I'll give you the thrashing you've been needing for a 
month." 

A look that was related to the look in Ralph Sutherland's 
face, came into Larry's as this was said, but he was silent, 
wfcle his mother, startled into indiscretion, said hurriedly : 

" Oh, Ralph 1 the men are nearly through their supper — 
let one of them go. Nattee can't manage Dirck, he's so 
wild "- 

Ralpl^fixed his eyes on her for a moment, and the sen- 
tence was never finished. Nattee shrunk noiselessly out of 
the room, and not a word more was said. She did not go 
through the kitchen, where the men still sat over their 
8upper, but out ^ into the hall, and through the back door 
into the yard. There was a cowed and frightened hesita- 



44 « THE eUTHEBLANDB. 

tion about her that was a strange contrast to the lithe, 
careless tread with which she had gone into the kitchen 
fifteen minutes before. She was usually fearless and rapid, 
much used to outdoor work, and often intrusted with the 
entire care of the animals when the men were away in the 
field, and she and Salome were the only servants left at 
home. A very fearless horsewoman she bad proved herself 
hitherto, and her Indian blood, which made so good a cross 
with the mulatto, had given her an intrepidity and skill 
that rendered her as useful and dexterous as a man about 
the farm, and nothing but her unusual cleverness and 
tidiness in the house, and perhaps a little shame at so using 
a woman, kept Ralph from employing her as a field hand 
whenever there was need, and working her with the men. 

But now, as she crept with cowardly and shrinking steps 
down to the creek, she looked very far from dexterous or 
intrepid, and as if she were totally incapable of the task 
that had been put upon her. The creek was unusually high 
for that season of the year, owing to the great rains that 
had fallen recently, and the water looked deep and black 
as she pushed the boat off upon it and struck it with ner 
oar. The sun had been down some time, and the sky was 
growing so pale, she cast a fearful eye toward it ; it might 
take her half an hour to catch that horse, it would be dark 
before she reached the house — and — but just tjien she 
heard the branches on the bank crackle, and some one 
sprang down upon the flat rock that ran out into the creek. 
What if it were her master, angry at the time she had 
already wasted ? And half blind with terror and excite* 
ment, Nattee glanced toward the bank 



THE SUTHBBLANDa. 45 

" Here, Nattee, I want to go across, come back," called 
out Larry's voice. 

" Oh, Master Larry 1" and she pulled back with a good 

will. 

Larry sprang in, and Nattee rowed across to the oppo 
site bank of the little creek, while he stood thoughtfully ia 
the stern of the boat. 

" You're not going for Dirck, Master Larry ?" she said, 
hesitatingly, as he sprang out. " Massa'll be dreadful 
angry if you do." 

He hardly gave her a look as he strode on across the 
field, while she appredensively and humbly, but very reliev- 
edly followed. Catching Dirck* was never an agreeable 
pastime, and one look at his fiery eyes accounted satisfacto- 
rily for Nattee's cowardice. He was as vicious a brute as 
ever trod, and every movement, from the restless turning 
of his abominable eye to the sharp strike of his heavy hoof 
into the sod, told the story. Coming of the famous breed 
of draught horses for which Ulster County was then so 
famous, it was rather to be wondered at that Ralph Suther* 
land had reserved the best specimen of the kind he pos- 
sessed for his own use instead of working him on the farm. 
But for this, there were some reasons chargeable to his own 
native perversity, and some more to the native perversity 
of the animal himself. No attempt to drive him in harness 
had ever been crowned with the slightest success ; broken 
heads and dashboards had resulted, but nothing of a more 
satisfactory nature. He just submitted to the saddle, and 
that was all ; and after the first vexation of losing his ser- 
vices upon the farm, Ralph took a kind of savage pleasure 



46 THE SUTHEltlANDB. 

m 

in riding about among his neighbors on a horse whose 
known attributes of ugliness, invested him, the rider, with 
an added shade of rather questionable importance, but an 
importance peculiarly acceptable to his pecuUar disposition. 
Nattee climbed up, in mortal terror, on the stone wall at 
the lower end of the lot where Dirck was monarch, and 
watched with apprehension the rare chase he was giving to 
his pursuer. He was not monarch long, however ; Larry, 
though angry and determined, was light of foot and very 
powerful, and in a few minutes Dirck's strong head was 
writhing under the halter, and the whilom monarch was led 
along an ungracious captive. 

As Larry, now half soothed by his success, approached 
the wall where Nattee stood, she involuntarily swayed her- 
self backward in alarm, and almost fell ; but in an instant, 
by a quick gesture with her arms, recovered herself, and 
kept her balance by clinging to the narrow ledge with her 
soft, supple brown feet. Her young master did not often 
look at her with half the interest that he looked at his set 
ter Kelpie or his brown mare Bess, but this evening he 
looked at her with much more ; indeed, with a half sur- 
. prised and involuntaiy admiration. For if Nattee had 
chosen her attitude and surroundings with the skill of an 
ingenious and cultivated lady, she could not ha^e chosen 
any better calculated to awaken admiration and attention. 
The peculiar pale, clear light of a sky from which the sun 
ad been gone for half an hour, made the creek a band of 
silver through the dark green fields it crossed, and brought 
out everything, from the far-off mountains in the west to 
the dark outline of Nattee's graceful figure, in the moat 



THB SUTHEBLANDS. 47 

delicate, but clearest relief. Her striped woollen skirt and 
dark blue short-go\\Ti lost their color against the pale sky, 
and 80, almost, did her bronzed, rounded limbs, naked half- 
way to the knee, and her straight glossy hair knotted low 
in the neck, and of her face, Larry only saw the well-cut 
outline for which she must thank her Indian father, and the 
startled look of animal fear which dilated into positive 
beauty her great dark eyes. 

"Why, Nattee, you little fool," he said, leading the horse 
up to the fence ; " why are you so afraid of this great 
brute ? He'll never hurt you. Get on and ride him up to 
the barn." 

" Oh, no," she cried, shrinking back ; " oh, Master Larry, 
I can't, indeed I can't." 

"Nonsense," he said, slipping the bridle over his arm^ 
and coming up to the fence. " You must get used to him ; 
you'll not mind after you are on. Don't be silly, girl, I'll 
lead him." 

A cold chill ran through her, but habitual obedience 
made her unresisting as the young man, putting his strong 
arm around her, swung her up upon the horse's back. For 
two minutes she clung shaking to the mane, and felt, with 
horror, nothing but the heavy tramp of the heavy-limbed 
beast beneath her, and the hot flesh of his muscular neck 
against her arms ; but soon the regularity of his move- 
ments and the reassurance of Larry's presence and protec- 
tion relieved her from her fears, and reconciled her to her 
strange position. 

The only spot where tlie creek was fordable was some 
distance above them, but the young man did not appear in 



4:S THE 8UTHEBLAKD8. 

anv naste to reach it and whistled as he walked along, aud 
talked to Du'ck, and sometimes threw a word at Nattee, 
and did not seem to think at all of his father's anger at the 
delay; but only to be indifferently and indolently content. 
When they reached the ford, Nattee would have got down, 
and said, " Oh, Master Larry, don't go through the water 
with your boots ;" but he did not take any notice, and kept 
on, plashing down into the creek without even looking at 
her. How cool the water sounded, as the man's feet and 
the horse's feet dashed it up about their limbs ; and as they 
came up on the other bank, and brushed through the tall 
beds of white clover that lined the water's edge, there 
came such a delicious scent of the crushed flowers, that 
Lawrence stooped and picked a handful of them as he 
walked along. 

The forgotten terror, however, came back to Nattee as 
they reached the lane. How long they had loitered, how 
dark it was growing ! What if master were waiting now 
for Dirck 1 But as she glanced aside at Larry's handsome, 
careless face, she was sure she need not fear ; he would not 
let her be punished for what was not the fault of her 
cowardice alone. 

" What can father want with Dirck this evening ?" he 
said at last, echoing her thought, but speaking, more to 
himself than to her. 

" I think," faltered Nattee, timidly, for she was always 
timid, when she spoke to him, "I think he's going down to 
the Stadt to see if he can hear anything of the folks that's 
coming from — from over sea, you know." 

" Oh, yes." And Larry fell into a state of musing, and 



THS SUTHEBLANDS. 49 

poor Nattee began to wish she hadn't set him thinkuig 
about those tiresome cousins, that he might have gone on 
whistling and jerking Dirck's bridle when he put^his head 
down into the cloyer, and looking carelessly around at her 
when the sudden motion of the horse threatened to unseat 
her. Never before in all her life, though she was born 
upon his father's place, and had grown up from a child 
in his father's kitchen, had Lawrence ever looked at her 
with any glance that was not the most casual and indif- 
ferent, and never repeated till she came unavoidably under 
his eye again. And ever since he had come home from 
school, a handsome lad of seventeen, she had longed, in 
the secret depths of her heart, for some siich glance as he 
had given her to-night, some notice, however slight, that 
might be a fitter recompense for her services than the 
shining lavish coin he tossed about among the slaves at 
Christmas. Larry was generous and kind, though deter- 
mined and high-handed, and the fiimily servants loved him 
with th^ same sincerity and fervor with which they hated 
his father. But to Nattee, brought up by her tender- 
hearted mistress more like a child of the family than a 
servant, he was a hero, a young king: and sitting in 
loving docility at his mother's feet, she eagerly imbibed, 
along with much of her gentleness and refinement, the 
whole of her indiscriminating love and blind adoration for 
her boy. Kind Mrs. Sutherland, yearning always for 
something to lavish her affection on, had not the foresight 
to recognize the danger of this ill-judged kindness to her 
favorite slave. In one way or another, sooner or later, the 
smallest departure from the quiet, even path of justice and 

3 






60 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

propriety, will make ilself felt, and though the departure 
may be on virtue's side, it is a departure, nevertheless, and 
will put things out, and grate, and jar, and breed discom- 
fort and confusion, long after the error itself has been 
forgotten. 

Larry stopped suddenly, as a winding of the lane 
brought them in sight of the gate. Before it was a large 
covered country wagon, and by the head of the stout 
horses stood a plethoric Dutchman, whom Larry recog- 
nized as the landlord of the inn at the Stadt. 

What brings him here ?" he said thoughtfully. 
Oh," cried Nattee, slipping down from the horse, 
"they must have come — I know it's them, the English 
cousins from over sea. And look, there through the 
lilacs, they're going into the house." 

Larry looked, and a slight flush on his brown face, and a 
Blight compression of his well-cut lips resulted from the 
look. 

" I see," he said, rather shortly pulling up Dirck from 
the clover, and nodding a good evening to Mynheer Van- 
derhouser, as he passed him on his way to the barn. He 
told Nattee abruptly she might go into the house and help 
Salome, he'd put the saddle on Dirck, and leave him at the 
farmyard gate. Nattee was going away with a d'sap- 
pointed look, when he called out to her, " K my mother 
says anything about it, you may tell her I am gone down 
to Martin's. I shan't be back till late." 

With all his manliness and native lordliness, there was a 
touch of the rustic in young Sutherland ; he dreaded with 
a cowardly dread the first interview with these foreign-bred 



THE SUTHERLANDS* 6l 

relations ; he felt their intrusion upon the ease of his home 
as an intolerable constraint, and from the first notice 
of their coming, all his generous-minded hospitality and 
habitual good humor had quite forsaken him. The idea of 
the homely farmhouse and ho'mely family ways passing 
under the eye of this dainty young lady, used to such very 
difierent ways, and his own manners and ac4uirements 
criticised by this young scholar, of whose Oxford career he 
had heard so much, had made him as thoroughly uncom- 
fortable and ill-tempered as it was at all possible for him to 
be, every time he had thought of it for the past two 
months, and now things had culminated, and ha was 
savage as he turned his back upon the house, and saddling 
Bess, dashed off tgward the asylum that older and wiser 
men had sought before him — the tavern. Women, not 
having any tavern or club to rush to from the presence of 
domestic iufeUcity, have to learn a little self-control, which, 
perhaps, stands them in as good stead, after all, though the 
idea of flight is seductive at a first glance. 

As Larry disappeared within the barn, Nattee turned 
toward the house feeling quite wretched and unsatisfied, 
but the indication of some unusual stir in the kitchen, and 
the recollection of the long-expected arrival somewhat 
revived her spirits. Salome met her with' a volley of 
reproaches on account of her long absence, ajid sent her 
off to look up Amen, who had been sent off to look up 
eggs, which were to be cooked for the strangers' supper, 
and which were still probably lying warm and undisturbed 
in the nests under the mow, Amen being the untrustiest oJ 
messengers. In fact, after a long search, Nattee found 



52 THE SUTHEBLANDB. 

him, quite unconscious of eggs and time, playing mumble* 
-peg on the barn-floor with the knife which had fallen from 
his master's pocket as he mounted Bess. He dodged 
Nattee's provoked slap, and shpped off to the creek for a 
8wim, leaving her to hunt the eggs and swallow her indip"* 
nation as best she might. 



CHAPTER IV. 



HOMESICKl^ESS. 



•• Think on th' eternal home 

The Saviour left for you ; 
Think on the Lord most holy, come 

To dwell with hearts untrue : 
So shall ye tread un tired His pastoral ways. 
And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise. ' 

Eebli. 

When Nattee reentered the kitchen, some ten minutes 
after, with her hardly-earned basket of eggs, Salome did 
not give her time to anathematize Amen, but pointing to a 
pile of extremely white towels lying on the dresser, told 
her to hurry up with them to the spare bedroom, where 
the young lady was to sleep, and to look if there was fresh 
water in the pitcher. Nattee caught up a candle, for it 
was genuinely dark by that time, and ran up the back 
stairs and across the open garret to the side door that led 
into the spare bedroom. The ceremony of knocking was 
not much attended to in that place and generation ; 
besides, Nattee had not the least idea that the young lady 
bad gone up to take possession of her room, so she hastily 
opened the door and entered, not perceiving, till she was 
half across the floor, that there were candles lighted on the 
mantelpiece, and that beside the bed some one was kneel- 
ing, with hidden face, in an abandoned attitude of 
wretchedness. Nattee dropped the armful of towols, and 

89 



64 THE BUTHEBLAND8. 

retreated hastily to the door, but her ready woman's 
sympathy drew her half way back again. What should 
she do for her, this poor young thing, so homesick and so 
far from home. She could not leave her, crying that way, 
as if her heart was broken. Perhaps she'd better go down 
and tell her mistress ; but no, the door by which she had 
been brought to her room was bolted tight, and she had 
thought herself alone no doubt, and had not meant any one 
should know how dreadfully unhappy she was. After 
a few moments, Nattee, unable any longer to restrain her 
pity, ejaculated : 

" Oh, my dear young lady, don't — don't cry so— it'll 
make you sick — I can't bear to see you cry so." 

The young lady started violently to her feet, and her 
first look, as she grasped the post of the bedstead and 
supported herself by it, was one that told, even to Nattee, 
the cruelty of the intrusion. All through the terrible voy- 
age that was just over, though half dead with sea-sickness 
and home-sickness, she had never once given way to the 
misery poor Warren tried not to suspect, and ever since 
they landed she had struggled bravely to keep up and give 
him constant smiles and reassurances ; but this was the 
end — she had promised herself only to bear the terrible 
suppression of emotion till she reached her journey's end ; 
she had longed more hungrily for one moment by herself 
than for any other consolation — one room into which she 
could shut herself, and sob out the devouring misery she 
had so long smothered in her heart. 

And here she was ; here was the home to wliich this 
dreary journey had tended ; in this low, dark house, with 



THE 3UTHERLANDS. 55 

its stern, unfamiliar, un-English look, the grey, dusky twi- 
light growing greyer and duskier as it settled round it — • 
here she must live, and forget England — here she must be 
happy. Coarse and uncongenial companions, no doubt, all 
she would have, must be. The repulsive face of her uncle, 
the thick, dull faces of all the Dutch travellers they had 
encountered on the road, almost obliterated the impression 
of the gentle, brown-eyed matron who had met her with so 
motherly though so timid an embrace. The truth was, 
poor Laura was so overdone and wretched that eveiything 
looked black and hopeless, she could not be reasonable or 
wise ; and when this strange, rude creature burst in upon 
her sacred privacy, she could only think, with miserable 
resignation, that there was nothing else to be hoped for 
here. 

Nattee, too, was quite as much frightened, and quite as 
uncomfortable as her victim, and was stammering some 
incoherent excuse, and retreating, when something in 
Laura's face overcame her afresh with pity, and made her 
forget her chagrin and awkwardness. 

" Oh," she faltered, clasping her hands together as she 
approached her, " oh, if you only wouldn*'t mind me, if 
you'd only let me stay by you and take care of you. You 
can cry just the same — I won't tell mistress. I'll lay you 
on the bed and bolt the door, and keep everything so quiet. 
I'm so dreadful sorry for you." 

And the slow tears that gathered in her eyes looked very- 
much as if this naive sympathy came from an honest heart. 
Whatever sort of a heart it came from, however, it went 
with a startling power to Laura's, and throwing one arm 



56 THE SUTHERLANDb. 

round the girl's brown neck, she flung herself upon the bed 
and gave way to an uncontrolled burst of weeping. Nattee 
stooped tenderly over her, holding with a loving reverence 
the " white wonder " of her hand, caressing it almost fear- 
fully as it lay in her own, then smoothing back the wavy, 
dishevelled hair on the pillow, and laying in straight feids 
the heavy, clinging, black dress on the white counterpane. 
The words she whispered were probably of not much avail, 
of themselves, in dissipating the sorrows of the unhappy 
stranger; but there was something soothing in her tone 
and touch, and by and by the sobs subsided to a low, con- 
vulsive catching of the breath at intervals, and the suffering 
face regained a quiet look, while Nattee stole away and 
busied herself with adjusting the disordered room, and 
folding up the cloaks and wrappers that were flung down 
near the door. There is always a sense of comfort in being 
taken care of, that penetrates insensibly the heaviest dejec- 
tion ; the sound of a guarded step about the room, the 
smothered opening and shutting of a door, the low whis- 
pered question, all tuned to suit the aching ear of suffering, 
have a charm that may not be recognized, but can hardly 
fail of being felt. Love never goes unfelt, or is bestowed 
in vain, except when the cup of life is full already to the 
brim with happiness; empty, aching hearts find ready 
room for even the humblest affection offered. If Laura had 
been at home, and happy, as she was six months ago, and 
this poor Nattee had shown her this devoted homage, she 
would have looked down at her with half amused interest 
and gentle kindness, but without anything of the gratitude 
and tenderness she experienced now. 



THE BUTHERLANDS. 5T 

Presently there came a tap at the door, and a man's voic« 
outside said, " Laura." Laui-a started up, and putting her 
hand to her forehead, exclaimed in a low tone, " Warren 
must not see me so. What shaU I do ?" 

While Nattee, laying her finger on her lip, stole across 
to the door and opened it a-crack. "The lady's lying 
down," she said in a whisper. " Perhaps she'll go to sleep, 
she's so tired. Did you want anything, sir ?" 

* " No," the young man answered, in a tone of some relief. 
" I'm glad she's lying down. Ask her if I shall come in a 
moment." 

*' Would it be good to disturb her, sir ?" 

*' Perhaps not," he replied, a little hesitatingly. " You'll 
be I77 her, I suppose, if she rouses, and will call me if she 
desires to see me." 

Nattee dipped a graceful courtesy to him as he turned 
away. 

"I'm glad poor Laura has such a nice creature about 
her," thought the careworn and troubled Warren as he 
went downstairs. " What a beautiful young gentleman 1" 
thought Nattee, as she softly closed the door. "But oh 
what a difference between him and Master Larry !" And 
the beautiful young gentleman's end of the beam kicked 
the air, of course. 

It was very late on the following morning when Laura 
started up from her heavy sleep. The chintz hangings of 
the high-posted bed were between her and the sunshine 
from the window, and for a few moments she gazed bowil- 
dered at the gay, grotesque birds on them, uncomfortably 
uncertain whether she were in the tropics or at home with 



68 THE 8UTHEB LANDS. 

a bad headache, of which these gaudy things were the 
result •, but Nattee's eager face appeared presently at the 
opening, and she sank down with an " oh !" that told it had 
all come back to her. She could not have cried then, 
though everything looked even blanker than it did the 
night before ; but she was too unelastic and flat for the 
mental effort it would have required. Even the fancy for 
Nattee had faded, though she got up languidly and dressed 
herself with her help. 

" It's ever so late !" Nattee volunteered. 

" Is it ?" said Laura, remembering indifferently she had 
not wound up her watch the night before, a recollection 
which always gives one a sense of discomfort and out-of- 
jointness. 

*' It's most nine o'clock." 

'*Ah!" 

"Your brother's just had his breakfast; he slept late 
too. And he's gone out walking over the place with mas- 
ter. And Salome's got your breakfast all kept hot for 
you. You like your cream cakes nice an' brown, don't 
you ?" 

" Oh, I don't care particularly ; I'm sorry to have put 
any one to trouble, for I am not hungry. I don't think I 
can eat any breakfast." 

It was quite a blow to Nattee to find the young lady so 
dead to the pleasures of the palate ; she gave up the 
breakfast question, but, resolved upon interesting her at 
all hazards, she began upon family topics. 

" Mistress has been frettin' about you so, all the mora- 
iiig, for fear you was sick, and didn't sleep good^ and 



THE BDTHEKLANDS. 59 

wouldn't be happy here, and would be hankering after your 
own home, and all that.'* 

" Oh, what a bother that's going to be," thought Laura, 
^Languidly. "To be teased all the time about my looks 
and my appetite and my home-sickness. If they only let 
me alone" 

"Ain't it a pity," Nattee said, "you can't see Master 
Larry, till to-night ? He's gone over the mountain with a 
couple of men, to see about drawing some logs for the new 
barn, and he won't be back tUl supper. You've never seen 
Master Larry ?" 

" Larry ?" repeated the young lady, absently. " Oh, my 
Qousin — no, I've never seen him." 

"And the young gentleman — that's your brother, I mean 
— didn't see him neither. He went before he was up. 
What a pity he's going to be gone all day I" 

" Thank Heaven," murmured Laura, under her breath ; 
for in her secret heart, though she was too gentle and too 
kind to encourage the thought, much less to give it expres- 
sion, the one she most dreaded of her new associates, was 
this young farmer. Her uncle and aunt were English born, 
and though, perhaps, roughened by and inured to this dif- 
ferent life, must still, she was sure, retain some of the soft- 
ening influences of the old ; but the younger one, born and 
brought up among the hardy settlers of this new land, 
must, she felt intuitively, be on a level with them in rough- 
ness and want of refinement, while his near relation to her, 
and the similarity of their ages, would naturally bring them 
more together, and make him more familiar with her. She 
nhrank so uncomfortably from the thought of this, that 



60 THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 

Nattee instinctively felt she had touched a disagreeable sub* 
ject, and that for some reason Master Lany's praises did 
not find any echo in her listener's mind. 

"See what a nice day it is!" she said, at last, drawing' 
back the curtains and pushing up the window. 

" Very nice," Laura answered, hardly glancing out, and 
after a moment added, " May I trouble you to drop the 
curtain again : the light hurts my eyes so.'* 

Poor Nattee ! There are some people who are constitu- 
tionally incapable of doing anything right, and in despair 
she went downstairs to prepare for the young lady's 
arrival at the breakfast table. It was a very long half 
hour before Laura descended the stairs herself, and eveu 
then, she did not immediately direct her steps toward the 
sitting-room. She walked slowly and thoughtfully through 
the low stone hall, glancing with some 'curiosity at the 
dark, heavy beams overhead, and the rows of stiff, high- 
backed chairs on each side, and the rather rough " Map of 
Ulster County " on the wall, and the huge brass spyglass 
hanging beneath it, not much comforted or encouraged by 
the contrast it presented to the cheerful pleasant hall of Bor- 
ringdon Parsonage, pictured, and cai-peted, and sunny. But 
at the open hall door she paused, and, leaning against the 
post, took in her first draught of the delicious summer morn- 
ing. Not even Borringdon itself could have shown a fairer 
phase of it than lay before her. The low stone porch had 
an untrained wilderness of sweetbrier and trumpet-creeper 
wandering over it, through the festoons and crevices of 
which, at the side, were glimpses of deep blue sky and 
deeper blue mountains, while in front, beyond the shrub- 



THE SUTHERI. ANDS. 61 

bery and the grass-plat, lay the wide-stretching Flats, here 
white with buckwheat, there yellow with com, or stacked 
with the newly-cut and fragrant hay ; while, in and out, the 
creek wound its devious course, sometimes unseen, but 
always marked by the thick trees that skirted it. It was 
lovely: she was in God's land even here, and a faint 
reviving sense of pleasure stirred her worn-out, home-sick, 
hopeless heart. She put up her hand and pulled down a 
branch of the sweetbrier that hung above her, to bring 
nearer the evanescent floating sweetness that filled the air, 
and her movement startled from an adjacent cluster of the 
trumpet creeper, that wonder and darling of the New 
World, a tiny humming-bird, who, hanging suspended in 
palpitating indecision, for an instant, over the rich heart of 
the dark-red flower, darted terrified away, piercing the air 
with his swift flight. 

While she was standing with the branch of sweetbrier in 
her hand, following with delighted eyes the flight of the 
wonderful bird, her uncle and Warren suddenly came in 
Right. A dutiful resignation made her drop the sweetbrier 
and step down into the path to meet them. Ralph favored 
her with his hand and a piercing long stare from under his 
grizzled shaggy eyebrows. 

"You're monstrous pale this morning, lass,*' he said 
letting go her hand and passing on into the house, while 
the pale lass shrank timidly to the side of her brother, who 
laid his hand upon her arm and looked anxiously and 
silently into her face, as she followed the old man. 

Laura did not hear his low sigh, nor did she see the look 
of pain upon his face, as he turned away and went back 



62 THE SUTHEBLANDB. 

into the porch, for she had caught sight of her aiinl 
through the sitting-room door and was moving forward to 
meet her. Mrs. Sutherland embraced her hurriedly and 
nervously, for Ralph, laying down his pipe, was eyeing 
them attentively. 

This was not lost upon the quick-sighted and quick-sym 
pathied English girl ; and though it deepened her aversion 
to her uncle, it diverted her morbid homesick fancies a 
little from their recent objects of devotion, and inspired her 
with a very healthy and profitable affection and pity for her 
gentle and uncomplaining aunt. She still felt blank and 
lonely, but the first grappling-iron of sympathy had been 
thrown out that would soon draw her toward and attach 
her to this new and untried life. She had crossed the great 
ocean of separation and self-sacrifice, and whatever the haven 
proved to which her duty had led her, no doubt the spirit 
of submission that has been her guide throughout would 
reconcile her to it, and in time, perhaps, bring its owu 
reward of contentment and satisfaction. 



CHAPTER V. 

IN THE OBCHABD. 



** A beauty, gay 

And pure as apple-blooms, that show 
Outside a blush, and inside snow." 

Warrek Sutherland's task, in reconciling himself to 
this new life, was incalculably harder than his sister's. 
Apart from the fact that women always accommodate them- 
selves to changed circumstances more aptly than men, there 
was that in his trial that Laura knew nothing of, save 
through her sympathy for him. He had left all hope and 
pleasure behind him in England ; that is, all the hope and 
pleasure that this world can offer or bestow ; he had put it 
out of his power to be tempted again by these things, and 
he had hoped to kave forgotten that they existed. He had 
hoped that the great sacrifice by which he had cut himself 
off from worldly advancement and earthly interests, would 
have resulted in a self-conquest and peace that would have 
repaid him for the effort — that the entire consecration of 
his life, talents, and affections to the service of God would 
have brought with it an immediate release from the tempta- 
tions he renounced. He was beginning to see that one 
great act of renunciation will not win Heaven nor Heaven's 
peace at once; it maybe the ot?r ting-point in the right 
direction — it is not all the journey, 

"Think not prayer and fast weie given 
To make a single step 'twixt eai 4A and heaven/ 



G4 THE SUTHKBLANDS. 

If they were, how easy a solution of all life's difficulties 
would lie within our reach ; how sure a cure a monastery or 
a desert would become ; how infinitely easier than to strug- 
gle on in the state of life in which it hath pleased God to 
place us, continually mortifying all our evil and corrupt 
affections, daily conquering what is daily tempting, daily 
renouncing what is daily loved, and daily proceeding in all 
virtue and godliness of living. 

Not that Warren's motive had been a cowardly one, a 
desperate resolution to fly his temptation and be done with 
it forever : but he had unconsciously hoped that, having 
done his duty at so terrible a cost, he might reap some pre- 
sent peace from its performance. Everything had pointed 
to his acceptance of this mission. No desirable home had 
presented in England for Laura, a home and relatives were 
to be had in America. Sir Charles had not offered the 
living, though half-promises and rumors of his intention to 
do it had reached him ; a necessity for some decision was 
pressing, when, unexpectedly, the appointment to this post 
had arrived. Convinced of the importance of this much 
neglected field of Christian labor, conscious of his own 
power to perform the duties of it well, cut off from all bind- 
ing ties at home — what lay in the way of his accepting tho 
post, and fulfilling to the letter his ordination vows of self- 
renunciation and devotion ? Nothing but a love that was 
at once hopeless and unprofitable ; and with a naanly resolu 
tion he put it aside forever. 

He had hardly answered the bishop's letter accepting 
the appointment, when one arrived from Sir Charles, 
acquainting him, in sufficiently courteous terms, with his 



THE SUTHER LANDS. 65 

desire tnat he should retain the living which his father 
had so long and so honorably held. It Avas not too late, 
he could write and recall his decision, and for one moment, 
Warren wavered, and that moment was the most critical 
of his life. But his mind was too clear and well-balanced, 
his heart too pure, his conscience too well instructed to 
sufier him to waver long. If the mission to America had 
been his duty, before he had any inducement to stay at 
home, it continued to be his duty after he had had such 
inducement, the sacrifice had been made in his own mind, 
the resolution taken ; what right had he to trifle with his 
own conscience, and say, Laura's contort, or his own 
health, or respect to his father's memory, required him to 
stay and fill his place ? 

All such considerations he recognized as the suggestions 
of his ghostly enemies, and with resolute heroism, he 
refused to listen to them. His own health he had no 
right to favor at the cost of the smallest duty ; his father's 
honor would be best served by his son's faithfulness in 
whatever field God appointed for him ; Laura had already 
resigned herself to the change, and had begun her pre 
parations for it, and though her pleasure and her temporal 
advantage might be better consulted by remaining at 
Borringdon, his sober judgment told him, in one respect 
at least, she would be safer under the care of her aunt in 
America, for she was still very young to have the care of 
even so modest an establishment as the Parsonage, and such 
a position would devolve upon her many duties for which 
she was totally unfitted. Besides, reasoned Warren, why 
should I be indulgent and worldly-minded for her any more 



66 THE SUTHEBLANUS. 

than for myself? I must help, instead of hinder hei" ic 
giving up the world. . I have no right to guide myself by 
the wisdom it dictates, the rule that I own is foolishness in 
its esteem. I must be contented with the approval of my 
own conscience and with the hope of God's approval. 

And so they came to America : here they were at tnd 
end of that long, weary journey — here was the home tc 
which he had brought poor Laura, and here, in a few 
weeks, he must leave her. Doubts and misgivings beset 
him cruelly that first day, as he saw more and more of 
his uncle's unaccountably perverse and tyrannical dispo- 
sition, and his aunt's want of firmness and self-reliance. 
What guardians were these for a young girl brought up 
as Laura had been ? What companions they and their son 
would prove for these most important years of her life I 
What an atmosphere in which to develop her character ! 
Ah, what had he done ? what if he had been selfish in his 
self-sacrifice ? Were his motives pure ? — or was this all 
a mistaken duty? What good could he do among the 
poor Indians and slaves he had sacrificed so much to 
teach? He felt more ignorant and impotent than they, 
and the zeal and earnestness that had sustained hini till 
now, failed him in this hour of need. Everything seemed 
giving way and changing — in himself — ^in his surroimdings 
—in his judgment of things. 

And coming suddenly, that afternoon, upon Laura, 
sitting idly on the stone step of the porch, her work on 
her lap, and her eyes fixed absently on the distant 
mountains, full" of tears and unspeakably sad, he turned 
away from her with an exclamation of despair so unlike hi$ 



THK SUTHEBLAND8. 67 

usual quiet self-control, that she started up, and, throwing 
her arms around him, burst into tears. 

" Oh, Warren ! Forgive me, I am not so unhappy. Oh, 
how wretched I have made you ! Don't look so, dear 
Warren. Oh, what have I done ?" 

'* My poor sister ! What have I done ? Ah, Iiaura, 
Laura, how shall I make up for this cruelty to you ?" 

It would have been happier for them if this had never 
passed between them; for weeks they had kept up the 
mask of cheerfulness, and at times had half deceived each 
other; but from this moment they could not conceal it 
that their smiles were never anything but a loving deceit, 
that there was but one homesick heart-beat between them ; 
and all pretext for cheerfulness was gone. 

Warren drew Laura's arm within his, and led her down 
lo the grape-vine arbor, under the thick cover of which 
they walked and talked, with mingled tears and confessions 
on Laura's part, and sadness and tenderness on Warren's, 
till Nattee summoned them to the house to supper. Larry 
did not return, and his mother, who in all his rambling 
adventurous career had never become used to bearing with- 
out anxiety half an hour's tardiness in the time of his 
return, made herself very miserable about him, and together 
with Kattee, put away refreshments enough for his supper 
to have sufficed a whole platoon, and gave Ralph some 
excuse for his ill-tempered sneers. These, however, he 
abruptly ended by quitting the room, and inviting Warren 
to go with him. Like all self-willed, hard-headed opinion- 
ated men, he loved a quiet listener, and this he found in 
Warren, and it formed the basis of his decent treatment 



68 THE BUTHBKLANDS, 

of him. His peculiar propensity to threaten and opprebtt 
his family and the members of his household had given 
them the impression that there was something in the tie 
of blood that acted on him in an inverted and monstrous 
way, and that whatever or whoever came under his roof 
as gu«st, as dependent, or possession, would incur his dia- 
bolical malevolence. But there seemed to bo something in 
the young clergyman's self-respect, self-possession, and 
good sense, that insensibly called up all the gentleman 
in him, if anything of the gentleman could" be considered 
to be left in him after thirty years of conscious endeavor 
to root all traces of such a disposition out. 

Laura thought — " Oh, poor Warren, to have to talk to 
that dreadful man so long!" and finding her aunt and 
Nattee busy about the arrangements for Larry's comfort, 
she slipped out into the yard and wandered about in a 
sort of negative content, absent and dreamy, only happy 
at being let alone, and having a half hour to herself. At 
the right of the house there lay an orchard, which looked, 
as the declining sun sent its long, slanting shadows across 
the level sward under the thick, low-hanging boughs, more 
tempting and secluded than any other spot ; so climbing, 
with infinite pains, over the high-barred gate, which her 
strength was insufficient to open, she picked up her pretty, 
modish Leghorn hat, which had fallen on the other side, 
and walked on into the very heart of the orchard. 

This was the oldest orchard on the place, and, looked at 
agriculturally, was fast becoming a tolerably worthless 
one, but looked at picturesquely was a 'particularly 
valuable possession. In its day, whenever that had been, 



THE SUTUESLANDS. 69 

it bore evidence of having been a very fine one: the 
ground inclosed was very large and perfectly level, and 
a well built stone wall separated it on three sides from the 
adjacent fields, and from the farmyard, while a thick 
hedge of lilacs, within a similar wall, shut it off from the 
lane that led from the highway to the house. The great 
age and growth of the trees added as much to their beauty 
as they detracted from their marketable value. They 
were placed at considerable distances from each other, and 
the grass ^beneath was short and velvety, almost as trim 
and clean as an English lawn, shaved every morning, upon 
which each fallen apple rested like a ball of gold or of 
vermilion. Laura wandered slowly through the ranks of 
grotesque old trimks, admiring, with her quick, apprecia- 
tive sense of all that was admirable in nature, the grey 
gnarled branches, from which it seeme^ an actual miracle 
that such green leaves and such rosy fruit should spring, 
and the bent, hollow trunks, that seemed, for all their age, 
to keep so firm a hold of earth, and to drink in such 
pleasure from it. 

How soft and still the evening was, and how quiet all 
around. The barn-yard clatter seemed for a space to be 
lulled ; the men were at their supper, the cows stood ready 
for the milking below the barn, and their occasional lowing, 
and the twitter from a bird's nest in the hollow of a tree 
above her head, and the plash of the creek below the sheep 
lot, where it fell over a ledge of rock^, were the lonely 
country sounds that soothed her ear. 

" How delightful it is," she thought, stooping to pick up 
a yellow harvest apple at her feet. " I shall come here 



70 THE 8UTHERLAND8. 

always when 1 want to be alone, and after Warren goe^ 
that will be nearly all the time." 

The apples looked so clear and golden, that as she went 
slowly forward she picked them up, until she had an arm- 
ful, and without the slightest appreciation of anything but 
their beauty, and not having the least use or desire for 
them except because they looked so pretty, she was lifting 
her hand to shake the fruit from a low bough that drooped 
within her reach, when the sound of an approaching foot- 
step in the lot beyond, and the sudden vaulting of some 
one over the stone wall, made her start and relinquish the 
branch. It was a tall, Avell-built young man, in rough 
working clothes, Avith a short axe in the belt at his side, and 
a gun over his shoulder. He stopped for a moment to 
whistle up his companion, a setter dog, who followed him 
presently over the wall, and ran on beside him with panting 
sides and lolling tongue, that proclaimed her more weary 
than her master. He had not the least appearance of 
fatigue or discomfort, as he strode on through the orchard 
with his favorite at his heels, whistling carelessly and look- 
ing nowhere. 

Laura knew intuitively that it was her cousin. "What 
shall I do — where shall I go," she thought in an agony of 
alarm, dropping her armful of apples on the grouild, and 
turning to fly. But there was no escape, with the high 
wall all around, and that horrible five-barred gate. He 
would overtake her before she could get over. There was 
no use, she must face it bravely and speak to him, as well 
now as any other time. Once must be the first, and there 
was no advantage in putting off the evil day. 



THE «UTHESLANDS. 71 

The heavy fall of the apples on the ground had brought 
the intruder to a sudden stand-still, and glancing around 
with a surprised look, he saw a very unwelcome but a very 
pretty sight. For one moment he, too, thought of flight, 
and turning uneasily on his heel, took a step in an opposite 
direction, biting his lip, and looking disturbed and awkward 
enough. But his manliness and common sense returned 
presently to his help. There was no use in this absurdity. 
He wasted several wordless curses on his awkwardness and 
folly, and lowering his gun from his shoulder, faced about, 
and walked resolutely toward the young lady, who, having 
come to a similar decision, had advanced a step to meet 
him. Larry's face was rather flushed, and his usual easy 
confidence had suffered a great shock, for he took off his 
straw hat, and walked up to her with anything but easy 
confidence. In fact, he approached as nearly to awkward- 
ness and clodhopperism on that occasion as it is possible 
for a well-made, athletic, handsome man to do. Laura 
looked a shade paler than usual, her alarm having resulted 
in giving her additional coldness and dignity of man- 
ner. 

To naake matters worse. Kelpie, sniffing about with much 
sagacious inquiry, rushed along a foot and a half in 
advante of her master, and, as she reached Laura, brokp 
into a short, unamiable bark. Laura shrank back, and 
Larry, stepping forward, bestowed a heavy kick on the 
dog, and sent her yelping away. The satin feeling of the 
slim hand laid for an instant in his rough palm, anything 
but reassured him. 

"My cousin Lawrence, I suppose?'' And the younfi 



72 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

lady courtesied, very coy, and quiet, and cold. And the 
young man very briefly, and rather clumsily, acknowledged 
his identity with the Cousin Lawrence of her imagination, 
and added some commonplace and insincere expression of 
satisfaction at her arrival. " Thank you," she said duti- 
fully, and thereupon ensued a very uncomfortable pause, 
broken presently by Laura, who hazarded the observation 
that this was a very pleasant orchard. 

"You have dropped your apples," then said her new 
acquaintance, bending down to pick them up. 

. " Oh, don't gather them again, please," cried Laura, with 
sudden alacrity of manner, afraid of nothing so much as 
prolonging the interview. " I don't want them at all. I 
only picked them up because they looked pretty. I'd 
rather not have them, if you please." 

He bowed, and threw down the handful he had gathered, 
while she added, with more candor than courtesy : 

" I am only walking here by myself till the sun sets ; I 
shall go in before twilight. Do not let me keep you from 
your supper." 

Another bow, and he strode across the orchard to the 
fence, and flung himself over it with an ease that quite 
raised him in his cousin's eyes. 

"He's better looking than I thought," she pondered, 
" but vastly clownish and underbred, and how cruel to that 
poor dog. Ah, how I wish he might go away and leave 
as here in pea^'e !" 

If a similar wish in regard to herself passed through the 
mind of the young man as he left the orchard, it cannot be 
Yery much wondered at, nor can he be very much blamed 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 73 

for it. When he reached the house, he was in an exceed- 
ingly irritable frame of mind, and he bore with less forti- 
tude than usual his mother's lamentations over his late 
return and unnecessary provisions for his comfort, and 
being too dutiful to vent it openly on her, poor Nattee had 
to bear the weight of it, and choking down her tears, 
obeyed his order to leave the room and go about her work 
if she had any. He hated to have the whole house turned 
topsy turvy if he stayed out an hour beyond supper-time; 
he hated to have all the women in the family waiting on him 
as if he were a paralytic. Tell Salome he had as many 
muffins as he wanted, and let Nattee go about her work, 
*' and, mother, you sit down, will you." 

So Nattee was sent off wretched, and the fountains of 
Salome's sympathy were staunched, and Mrs. Sutherland 
was overwhelmed with contrition and dejection ; and all 
because of this new cousin ! Quite unconscious of the 
cause of the offence, however, Mrs. Sutherland humbly 
began to cast about for some subject to amuse him with, 
and very unfortunately hit upon the very one that had 
caused the trouble. He bore it as long as he could with 
patience, then rising from the table, he pushed back hia 
chair with no very gentle emphasis, and exclaimed with 
indifferently concealed irritation : 

" My dear mother, I hope you will excuse me, but 1 am 
very little interested in this arrival. Let us talk of any- 
thing else, just now ; it wearies me." 

This silenced the poor mother effectually ; she watched 
him with deep concern as he walked heavily two or three 
times up and down the room, turning presently to leave it, 



74 THE BUTHEBLANDB. 

when, by anotb^r door, enter Ralph and the young clergy- 
man. 

" Lawrence," said the old man shortly, '• here's your 
cousin." 

" Well, I see him," Lawrence felt inclined to say, and lo 
walk straight out of the room ; but he did not ; he only set 
his teeth together for an instant in an angry way, then 
turned quickly toward them, walked up^to his cousin and 
held out his hand in anything but a clownish manner, in 
fact, in rather a soldierly and determined manner. 

" I hope you will excuse my absence to-day, sir," he said 
in a tone that did not attempt to be a soft one. '' I havo 
been obliged to be away." 

" I have regretted your absence very much," Warren 
returned, giving him his hand cordially. " We have so 
much lost time to make up for as cousins, that I feel we 
cannot begin too soon." 

Lawrence bowed rather stiffly and they both sat down, 
one on each side of the shining mahogany table. Lawrence 
looked a little more flushed and handsome than usual, and 
spoke less like an honest-hearted and manly fellow than he 
ever did before in his life ; while Warren, in his black 
clothes, and with his pale and aristocratic face, looked 
much more like a grand gentleman than he had any right 
or any desire to look. Therefore, it were needless to say, 
the two were not favorably impressed with each other, not- 
withstanding Warren's earnest efforts to that end. The 
stiffness threatened never to wear off. Mrs. Sutherland left 
the room, busy about some household duty ; Ralph took 
off his boots; and settled himself in a certain old-mannish 



THE STTTHEBLAND8. 76 

easy chair that was consecrate to him especially, and 
neithei' addressed nor answered any one, but kept a grim 
Burveillance o"ver all within the room. Nattee removed 
Lawrence's supper from the table, and put the dark-red 
homespun cloth upon it, and presently brought in a couple of 
lighted candles, for it was growing dark. The two young 
men were left necessarily to each other's mercy, but only 
talked in a desultory stranger-like manner, of things that 
strangers generally talk about, and naturally grew less 
familiar every moment. 

At the expiration of an hour, Mrs. Sutherland returned 
with her knitting in her hand, and sat down near her son 
She looked around with some surprise, and said, " Why, 
where is Laura ?" 

" She's probably in her room," said Warren, getting up 
"I'll go and ask her to come down." 

But in a moment he returned, looking a little anxious, 
and said she was not there. At the same instant Nattee 
came in and whispered to her mistress, she could not find 
Miss Laura anywhere. Mrs. SutheVland, always pronp to 
alarm on all occasions, started up quite pale and trembling, 
and followed Warren into the hall, Nattee bringing up the 
rear with a lantern which she had set down near the door. 
"The creek," Lawrence heard his mother say faintly, as 
they left the hall. Next to the fear of Indian depredations, 
the nearness of the creek was the most undying source of 
misery the poor lady knew. A dozen times a day her heart 
sank at imaginary cries of distress coming from that quar- 
ter ; she never began a day without a dreadful conviction 
that before its close either Lawrence or Nattee, or one of 



76 rHKSUTHEBLANDS. 

the men or boys, would be fished up from its treacheroua 
depths, stark and stiff; nobody or nothing was ever miss* 
mg, from colts and calves to men and boys, but her imagi« 
nation flew to that miconscious and smiling stream. That 
Lawrence had grown up to manhood beside it, was nothing 
short of a miracle ; his boyhood had been one long term of 
misery to her on its account ; and now, from the moment 
Warren said Laura was not in her room, the conviction 
flashed upon her she had fallen in the creek — they would 
be too late to save her — ^it was just what she had been 
always dreading. 

" Nonsense I" muttered Lawrence, getting up and shak- 
ing himself, as the door slammed afler their hurried exo- 
dus. " I could have told *em where to find her if they'd 
stopped to hear me. The girl's safe enough ; it's only some 
of her fine airs ; she's so monstrous fond of walking by her- 
self, I think I'll let her enjoy it a little longer." 

After the lapse of a few moments, however, his better 
feelings conquered, and going into an adjoining closet, he 
reached down a lantern, lit it, took up his hat and went 
out. The night was cloudy, and a thick close fog had come 
up since sunset, so the lantern was quite a necessary accom- 
paniment to the search. Indeed, he could not have seen 
two feet ahead without it, and he went directly toward the 
orchard, quickening his pace as he went on, and thinking 
somewhat more charitably of the young lady since he him« 
self had come out into the darkness. Surely she did not 
stay out voluntarily such an evening as this. 

After he was over in the orchard, however, he began to 
feel a little awkwardly about his errand ; he did not see any. 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 77 

* thing of her^ and though he wanted to call her name, ho 
did not know exactly what name to call. He couldn't 
begin right away to Laura her, and he'd see her hanged 
before he'd call her .Miss Sutherland. So he went along 
swinging his lantern and whistling carelessly, hoping she 
would hear him, and give some intimation of her presence 
if he approached her. But the carelessness of the whistle 
rather declined as he went on and saw no sign of her in any 
direction. Where, to be sure, had she gone ? What, if 
for once, his mother's foolish fears had some foundation ? 
She might have strayed down toward the creek after he 
left her, and been tempted to get in the boat. The boat 
was a crazy little thing at best, and ought to have been 
split up for firewood half a year ago. He would give an- 
other reconnoitre round the field, and then go and join the 
others. 

He had scoured faithfully three sides of the lot, and now 
directed his steps toward the lower corner, in which was a 
spring, surrounded by marshy, boggy ground, a favorite 
resort of the cattle in early spring, when they had the 
entree of the orchard. As he approached it, he heard a 
plashing and trampling that surprised him somewhat ; but 
the scene he fronted, as he neared the spring, and held the 
lantern up above his head, astonished him much more. 
Amen, following close in his wake and watching him, writh 
ing with silent laughter, from behind a bent old apple treo 
near the spring, perhaps could have elucidated it consid- 
erably. For that abominable and crafty youth, watching 
about at twilight for some mischief for the occupation of hia 
idle hands, had caught sight of Laura sauntering through 



78 THE StJTHBBLANDB. 

the orchard, and being certain she was afraid of cows, had' 
determined upon giving her a fright. Instead, therefore, 
of driving the cows down into the lowei lot, he resolved to 
turn them into the orchard and put up the bars softly, 
which would at once terrify the young lady, and save himself 
the trouble of escorting them to their usual dormitory. 

With much skill and demure enjoyment, he carried out his 
plan, Laura was kneeling down on some stones, pulling a 
tuft of moss from the edge of the unused spring, and feeling 
secure and very much isolated, when a sudden trampling of 
noofs, and the shaking sort of lowing that cattle make when 
running, caught her ear, and starting up, she saw a dozen 
cows or more making straight for her ; for, impelled partly 
by sticks and stones from Amen in the rear, and attracted 
partly by the prospect of a drink from their favorite spring, 
the deliberate troop agreed in making unusual speed to- 
ward that corner of the lot. Never imagining that their 
motives were of this innocent nature, however, she sprang 
up, and with a terrified shriek ran to the wall and essayed 
to climb it. But unhappily her fright deprived her of the 
little strength of which she was ordinarily mistress ; the 
close built wall presented an almost impassable barrier ; but 
clinging desperately to it, she had nearly mastered it, when 
her foot slipped, the stone by which she was supporting 
herself gave way, and she fell backward, the stone falling 
too, and for a moment lay almost senseless from the sud- 
den shock. 

But a sharp pain in her foot, and the warm breath of an 
inquisitive young heifer in her face, made her start up ard 
attempt to regain the wall. She was fein, however, to sink 



THE SU1HEBLAND8. 79 

down again in agony ; the stone had fallen on her foot, and 
besides the sprain she had given it in slipping, it was badly 
cut and bruised. Her screams could not reach the house 
from where she was ; indeed, she soon grew too faint to 
try to make herself heard, and when, after a long and 
dreadful hour, the welcome rays of Larry's lantern streamed 
upon her, she was half-clinging to, half-crouching against the 
wall, in the veiy comer of it, just where it intersected, her 
white dress torn and stained, her straw hat lying at her feet, 
the motley group of cattle standing in a semicircle round 
her, some trampling the marshy ground as if to enjoy the 
plashing of the water in the bogs, one or two sniffing in the 
spring itself, others chewing the cud, all looking huge and 
clumsy and strange by the lantern's light compared with 
the slight, white figure shrinking away from them in such 
mortal terror. 

When she caught sight of Lawrence, her strained, 
excited look of alarm gave way, and sinking down, she hid 
her face in her hands and burst into tears. Larry scattered 
her unwelcome attendants right and left, and with two 
or three quick strides, annihilated the distance between 
them. 

"How did they get in here? Have they frightened 
you ?" he exclaimed, bending down to her. 

" Oh, take me away, take me out of this horrible place,'* 
f»he sobbed. 

He thought her babyish and silly, though he could not 
help being sorry for her, till setting the lantern on tha 
ground, he caught sight of the blood staining her stockuig 
and skirt. With an exclamation of alarm, ne picked up the 



80 THE BUTHERLAND8. 

little high-heeled shoe, lying half a yard off, muddy and 
stained, and with the buckle broken quite in two. 

"You are hurt," he cried, kneeling down by her. 
** What has happened ?" 

She tried to tell him what had happened, and how she 
was hurt, but she did not make much headway, and ended 
by burying her face in her hands again and begging him, 
in the most spoiled-child way, to take her to her aunt, to 
tjike her away from this horrible place. 

There was nothing for it but to carry her ; it was plain 
Bhe could not walk, so taking the lantern in one hand, he 
lifted her up in his strong arms and walked quickly toward 
the house, rather silent, of course, but occasionally saying 
something reassuring and kind. 

Could it be possible this was the fine lady he had been so 
much in awe of but two hours ago ? She felt so light and 
childish in his arms, with her head against his shoulder and 
every half-soothed sob recordmg itself on his relenting 
heart, that he began to wonder he had not seen at first 
how sweet and unaffected she really was. 

As he put down the lantern in the hall and entered the 
open sitting-room door, he did not feel at all the bad-tem- 
pered fellow he had felt when he went out from that apart- 
ment only ten minutes before by the great clock in the 
corner. 



CHAPTER YI. 

SMALL THINGS. 

** Hearts good and true 

HaTo wishes few 
lo narrow circles bounded, 

And hope that lives 

On what God gives, 
Is Christian hope well-founded^ 

Small things are best, 

Grief and unrest 
To wealth and rank are given : 

For little things 

On little wings 
Bear little souls to Heaven." 

• 

Lawbence began at last to think his pretty cousin was 
inclined to make great capital of her sprained ankle ; she 
had totally upset the household on the night of the calamity, 
and had hardly allowed it to resume its tone through the 
whole of the next day ; the zealous Nattee suspended all 
her ordinary work, and Mrs. Sutherland looked as anxiouR 
and dejected as if her young charge had broken all her 
available limbs, instead of only having slightly sprained 
one. For three days she remained in her room, with War- 
ren, Nattee and Mrs. Sutherland in faithful attendance, so 
it cannot be wondered that the young autocrat left alone 
below stairs began to show signs of impatience and rebel- 
lion. It is all very well to considei the attentions of the 

4* ^ 



82 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

womenkind at home as something of a nuisance, and to 
bear them with a sort of lordly noblesse-obiige endurancje ; 
but it is very ungracious and uncomfortable to have them 
suddenly withdrawn without permission or solicitation of 
any kind, and without one's having placed any just cause 
or impediment in the way of their continuance. Larry had 
not been obliged to go over the mountain since that first 
day, and now that the haying was over there was not 
any very pressing work to engage his attention. Such a 
thorough-going young farmer as he of course was not idle ; 
but he came in the house long before supper-time now, and 
was at leisure the whole of the evening. 

He had imagined that perhaps she of the sprained 
ankle* would grace the settle in the sitting-room occa- 
sionally during her convalescence, and though he did not 
acknowledge to himself that such a circumstance would 
render that apartment more attractive, still he felt consider- 
ably irritated at the disappointment. No doubt she stayed 
up stairs because she preferred it ; that trashy sprain never 
could require all that care ; no doubt she thought he had 
been altogether too cousinly and careless when he carried 
her in that night, and meant to put him at his proper dis- 
tance again. Coy little minx ! he'd show her that the 
distance he desired was even greater than the distance sho 
tiictated ; he would speedily convince her of how small 
consequence he considered the cousinship between them, 
and how very little difference her advent in the family 
made to him. 

Three days after this he came into the house half an hour 
before supper-time. Having been superintending the cut» 



fHE SUTHEB LANDS. 83 

ring of some timber below the creek, he had taken his gun 
with him, and had employed the intervals of time in which 
his superintendence was not required, in beating up the 
neighboring thickets for partridge. Kelpie had started more 
tlian one covey, and he had had some very good shots, and 
had returned in that particular mood of easy good humor 
that generally accompanies the feel of a heavy string of 
birds over one's shoulder. 

He came through the hall, whistling, as he went and 
hung up his gun opposite the open sitting-room door, then 
tossing liis hat upon a chair, entered the room, swinging 
the birds down from his shoulder and crossing over toward 
the kitchen. 

The table was arranged for supper ; he gave a little start 
as he glanced beyond it, and saw Laura on the settle by 
the open window. Laura . gave a little start, too, and 
blushed a faint rose color all over her cheeks and forehead 
and throat, but turned to alabaster again as he approached 
her. 

" I am glad to see you're better," he said looking down 
at her from his sublime height, but not offering to take her 
hand. 

*' Thank you," she answered, faintly, veiy much relieved 
that he did not ; for her clever cousin had come pretty near 
the truth in his speculations. Her recollections of the 
adventure were very misty, but very mortifying. 

"Which was the worst, after all, the fright or the 
sprain ?" he went on, with a wicked sort of smile playing 
about the corners of his mouth. Laura had been made 
such a heroine of and her sufferings treated with such 



8^ THE SVTHBBLANDS. 

respect, that this seemed intolerably presuming ; she colored 
up again and said distantly : 

"It Is difficult to choose between two such disagreeable 
things," and turned away her head. Lawrence rej>laced 
the book which, in her agitation, had slipped down at her 
feet, and turned again toward the kitchen door. He left it 
half open as he passed through, and the young lady 
involuntarily glanced after him. Salome stood by the wide 
fireplace, Nattee, on her knees before the coals, was making 
toast. He flung the birds toward Salome, but Salome w^aa 
not quick enough, and they \vould have been prematurely 
roasted, entirely au naturel, if Nattee, by an adroit gesture, 
had not caught them before they fell. 

" Let's have 'em for supper, Salome," he said carelessly, 
going over to the dresser for a mug, and thence out a side 
door across to the well, which was in full view of the 
window where Laura sat, so she saw and heard the indif- 
ferent laugh with which he returned Salome's indignant 
protest against his unreasonable request. Supper would 
be ready in ten minutes — master would blow her head ofi 
if he had to wait. 

" Don't waste any more time scolding," he said, as he 
drew up a dripping bucketful of water from the depths of 
the deep well. " I must have 'em." 

Salome scolded vehemently, but went about her pre- 
parations, while Nattee flew across to the step of the 
kitchen-door with the birds in her apron, and sitting down 
without a word, began to pick them. Her nimble fingers 
paused though, once or twice, as the trickling blood 
warned her she had reached the tiny death-wound that 



THS BUTHEBLANDB. 85 

her master's hand had dealt. No ragged, mangled flesh ; 
there wasn't such a shot in all the country round as Master 
Larry ; she could tell the birds he'd taken down, if half the 
men on the place had been out shooting with him. But 
the poor things, with their drooping, dangling heads I 

There was within the roughly inclosed well, a coarse 
brown towel on a roller, and a great tin basin stood below 
it on a bench, where the men washed nightly when they 
came in from the field. The towel was renewed every 
afternoon, and hung fresh and crisp, with the folds still on 
it, and the basin was shiny and clean ; so Larry, after he 
had filled his mug and drank it ofi* with relish, filled this 
too, and stooping down, with both hands dashed the water 
into his face, and deliberately washed his hands, and then 
as deliberately dried both face and hands on the coarse 
brown towel, and shaking back the short, wet curls on his 
forehead, and turning down his sleeves, he reentered- the 
house, seeming to consider his toilet made. There was 
possibly some bravado about this, for he generally went 
into his own room to wash, and he was not ignorant of the 
view the sitting-room window commanded. 

When he reentered that apartment, he reached down, 
from the deers' horns over the sideboard, a fishing-pole and 
reel that resided there, and seating himself, began tinker- 
ing at them with much appearance of interest. It was not 
fair to say he whistled ; it was not an actual whistle, only a 
low occasional suggestion of a tune from lips pressed 
together with their earnestness over the work in hand, but 
it was sufficient to make Laura feel almost angry enough to 
cry. He had so entirely forgotten she existed, she waa 



86 THE SUTHEBLANXiS. 

fully at liberty to look at him now, and that with all the 
dislike he merited. 

Kelpie came whining and snuffing about his legs, and got 
a careless kick for her pains, after which she withdrew 
under his chair, and with her nose on the lowest round, 
and one silky ear dangling over it, watched him silently, 
and started and looked fondly sympathizing when some- 
thing broke with a snap, and a low " bother 1" escaped 
his lips. 

" Nattee," he called out in a louder tone, " run up to my 
room and get that box of tackle on the shelf, it's on top of 
a lot of books and things, I think." 

"I know, sir;" and Nattee was on the stairs almost 
before the sentence was finished. When she came back 
with the box, she stood a moment looking at his work with 
interest and appreciation. 

"You'll have to wax that thread," she said after a 
moment. 

" Yes," he returned, meditatively. *' It would be better. 
Get me some, will you ?" 

While she waxed the thread, he asked her if she had 
picked the birds. 

" Yes, sir, and they're on to broil." 

" Well, then, stay and hold this for me." 

Nattee understood the work quite as well as he did, and 
slipping down on the floor at his feet, lashed the broken 
line together very dexterously, while he held the other end 
tightly on his knee. Kelpie put her soft fore-paws a little 
too far out from her retreat, and Nattee, in the pride of 
her heart, gave her a sharp reprimand, and went on eagerly 



THE flUTHEBLANDS. 87 

With her delightful work. While Laura, in her stately 
heart, despised both dog and slave. 

Nattee's pleasure, however, was but short-lived, as is the 
nature of pleasure. A heavy, shambling step in the hall 
made her start a little and pause uneasily. 

" Master'll be wanting his supper ; he's coming in. I 
guess I'd better go." 

"Well," said Lawrence, acquiescently, "I can as well ^ 
finish it by myself." 

The young Indian was as good at making haste as most 
of her race, but fate was a second too quick for her thia 
time. Kelpie had been quietly gnawing at the line, and 
untwisted it a yard or two ; in starting up, her feet , got 
entangled in it, and as her master appeared at the door, the 
box of fishing tackle became involved in the general ruin, 
and hooks, lines, reels, floats and sinkers spread themselves 
entirely across the entrance. With trembling haste, poor 
Nattee, kneeling down, stretched out her hands to collect 
and restore them to order. 

For one moment the old man stood still in the door and 
watched her. Laura had followed his eyes from the 
unready table up to the tall clock in the corner, then back 
to the trembUng girl on the floor. Her very blood seemed 
to freeze as she saw the dull glare of rage that filled them 
as they settled on her, and his grasp tightened on- the 
heavy riding-whip in his hand. He brought it down on 
the bare, extended arms below him with a quick, galling 
cut, and Laura only saw the girl press her arras to her 
breast, and with a face convulsed with pain, dart from the 
room, before a sickening faintness came over her, and 



S8 TH£ SUTHEBLANBS. 

forced her to hide her eyes iii the pillow. She did not see 
the glance of menace and wrath that passed between father 
and son ; the stolid look of ugliness with which the former 
turned away, and going to the sideboard, poured out a 
heavy glass of liquor, and drank it off at a draught ; noi 
the suppressed scorn on the young man's face, as he strode 
angrily once or twice across the room, then stooped to 
pick up the scattered contents of the box. 

When the horn sounded for supper, and Warren came 
in, Laura put her arms around his neck, and begged him to 
take her to her room ; she did not want anything to eat, 
she only wanted to be by herself. Poor Mrs. Sutherland 
was infinitely distressed at the change of plan, but Laura had 
not yet learned self-control enough to endure the sight of 
the ugly old man, so fresh from such an act, nor the idea 
of being served by poor Nattee, yet smarting from his 
cruelty. The recital of it to Warren, when he came up 
after supper to sit by her in the long, gradual twilight, 
brought on a new burst of homesickness, for she was stiU 
weak and unnerved since the accident that had confined 
her to the house. 

** I am so afraid of him," she whispered, " the cruel old 
man ! Oh, Warren, you will not go away and leave me 1" 

" No," Warren said, sadly. " I am not going yet. 1 
will 'write to-niorht to the Rector for a longer leave of 
absence. Perhaps I can be excused from entering on my 
duties in New York till after Christmas — perhapj alto- 
gether. Do not despair, Laura. Let us watch b some 
good does not come out of all this darkness. , Let as see 
what is our duty here. Beginning from this very night. 



THE 8UTHKBLAND8. 89 

can yoa not see how much you may be able to achieve ? 
Think how Aunt Andria needs your affection and sym- 
pathy ;^and this poor Natiee, who has attached herself so 
strongly to you — you may be able to teach her the only 
truths that can reconcile her to her lot. As for myself, I 
begin to doubt whether there is any place that needs me 
more. The wretched ignorance of the slaves on this farm 
and on the neighboring ones, and of the scattering Indian 
settlements around, make me sometimes feel I have no 
right to go away — no right to turn my back upon this first 
field to which I have been led." 

# 

" But what can one do ?" said Laura, almost fretfully. 
*' Such a horrible old man as this — he will retard any good 
work he gains a suspicion of — ^he wiU do everything to 
hinder you. And that selfish, tyrannical, overbearing Law- 
rence — oh, let them alone — ^let us go to New York I" 

" Laura, this is not like you ; this is not like the courage 
and devotion that brought you here. Think a moment, 
my sister, of the danger of refusing any duty that lies before 
you. Think if you can honestly say, * We are not needed 
here : we can do no good.' Do you know that we are 
needed in New York ? Do you think that there, in the 
very centre of the missionary interest of the count ly, there 
can be as dreary a dearth of Christianity as here ? And 
can you persuade yourself that a city such as that has as 
natural and clear a claim upon you as this, the first home in 
America of your father's family ? This vast tract of land 
has borne our name for many years, and will bear it, no 
doubt, long after we have left it, selfishly or rightoously. 
And with our name, our influence and responsibility will 



90 IHE SUTHEBLANDS. 

continue to exist. We cannot shake that off: we mnst 
settle it in our own minds whether we will brave the 
danger of the sin. Are you strong enough for that, Laura ? 
Are you ready to say you give ujd, your burden here is 
heavier than you can bear — right or wrong you will be 
eased of it, right or wrong you will escape this discipline, 
turn your back upon this trial ?" 

"Warren," murmured Laura, turning away, "you are 
almost cruel.'* 

" Perhaps I am, Laura," he continued, speaking quickly 
and huskily ; " perhaps I have been cruel to you always, I 
don't know how it is all to end. I thought I meant weU. 
I think we came honestly away from pleasure and tempta- 
tion. I know you put your hand in mine and followed me 
humbly and obediently. The fault is mine, if I have led 
you wrong. Go yet a little further, Laura. Let the 
sacrifice to duty be entire. Don't shrink from giving up a 
little more where you have staked so much. Think of the 
nothingness of it all, Laura — all this tempting world I 
Think how little it will seem in the day that may be merci- 
fully near to you and me ! Comfort, pleasure, ambition, 
love — what will they seem then in comparison with the 
dreadful sight of one neglected duty, with its long train of 
evil — one unconverted soul that lay uncared for within our 
reach ? Think a moment, Laura ; what is this trial that we 
think so cruel, to the trials of that noble army with whom 
we hope one day to stand ? Will yon be willing thea t( 
think any have loved Christ better than you— any have 
served him more entirely ? That will be the one ambition 
then. All hope, all desire, will have but that one object ; 



THB SUTHEKLAKDS. 91 

all memories will be worse than blank that have no coloring 
of love to Him ; all pleasure will be pain that was enjoyed 
without His blessing ; all ease be torture that usurped the 
I)lace of duty. The woe, the terror, the shame — ^Laura, 
can you bear the thought ?" 

He had risen and walked up and down the room while 
he was speaking, and now stood still before her by the 
window, the fading light all centring on his pale, com- 
pressed features and dilating eyes. It was not fear of him, 
though, nor love of liim, that gave her voice the steadiness 
it had when at last she answered him, turning her face 
away, and gazing out into the gathering gloom : 

" No, Warren, I cannot bear the thought. I wiU stay 
here — I will try to do my duty." 

Trying to dp one's duty, however, is notoriously easier 
business than actually doing it ; it is child's play to resolve 
compared with the dire work it is to do. Laura's thought- 
ful eyes, though they saw as far into futurity as young eyes 
often see, were not open to all the weary way that lay 
before her in the path she had resolved to take. To be the 
patient enlightener of poor Nattee's rayless night, the 
cheerful companion of her aunt's sad lot, the unprovoked 
witness of her uncle's wanton ugliness of speech and loot 
required the grace of the saint added to the gentleness of 
the woman. And though her great sacrifice and her daily 
efforts brought her nearer to it eveiy hour, Laura was not 
a saint yet. 

In due time, a reply to Warren's letter came. He was 
released from his engagement as assistant minister of 
Trinity; the former incumbent had determined still to 



92 THE SUTHESLANDS. 

I'etain his charge, and he was free to remain where he wa& 
He had not waited for this, however, to review the ground 
for the scene of his new ministry ; and more unpromising 
ground, it would seem, could hardly have been found. In 
his uncle's house, he had to encounter the callous stubborn- 
ness that years of indiflference to religion in master and 
dependents had bred — a stubbornness far more formidable 
than the genuine ignorance of the Indians and early set- 
tlers. Ralph Sutherland -had left all care for the things of 
his soul behind him when he came to America. Hb was a 
household governed by no principle more safe and holy 
than his own unshackled will; and his wife had early 
leanied that the inmost cell of her homesick heart was the 
only chapel where she could ever hope to worship the God 
of her fathers. How it came that Lawrence was correct 
and well-balanced in matters of faith, could only be 
accounted for on the supposition that he rejected upon 
principle all the prejudices of his father, and learned sym- 
pathetically from his timid and silent mother the creed she 
had hardly dared to teach him to pronounce. 

A tremendous freshet of Methodism had flooded the 
country a few years before the commencement of this story, 
and had swept along with it all the floating faith of the 
neighborhood. It had eddied harmlessly, however, round 
tJie homes of the sturdy old burghers, who had brought 
over their Dutch faith as well as their Dutch tile from 
Holland with them, and beat harmlessly at the doors of 
the Sutherland mansion ; but the scattering emigrants from" 
the old country, who had followed in the train of the 
wealthier settlers of these rich bottom lands of the Cats* 



THE SCriHEBLANDS. 9S 

kills, and the Indians and negroes, who owned no other 
faith, had been entirely carried away by it. A small 
meeting-house, beyond the bridge, had been at first filled 
to overflowing, and was still filled with a fluctuating crowd, 
according to the gift of the resident preacher. 

The present pastor of this mongrel flock was esteemed a 
man of more than ordinary talent. His predecessor had 
been a mild, patient preacher of a very useful but unexcit- 
ing Gospel, and his hearers had thinned so surely from 
Sunday to Sunday, that about a year before a little new 
leaven had been esteemed a necessity. And very strong 
leaven the Reverend Pertinax Pound had proved, and in 
an incredibly short space the whole lump had fermented 
beyond belief. The Rev. Pertinax, being too working an 
ingredient for the better regulated, slower masses of the 
mother country, had early, from prudential motives, it was 
presumed, emigrated to this more congenial clime, where, 
after some twenty years of conscientious agitating, he 
found himself a leading and controlling member of his 
zealous sect. He possessed, floating somewhere around, 
now in New England, now in New York, now. in Virginia, 
a wife, who did not forget him, and some half dozen well- 
grown, stalwart sons. Some of them preached and some 
of them ploughed, but all were unmistakable fractions of 
the stout old block from which they had been chipped. 
The strangest part of all the strange history of this family 
was, that after all th-eir notorious slighting of the ties of 
nature that bind families together, they neither forgot noi 
ceased to love each other. 

The mother, a great, gaunt, iron-willed woman, lived 



94 THE SUTHEBLAJNDB. 

sometimes for months together in her dreary cabin in the 
mountains, utterly alone and unprotected, save when au 
occasional son dropped in upon her, with his axe on his 
shoulder and his Bible in his pocket, en route for some new 
field of labor ; or when sometimes she put the key of the 
cabin in her pocket, and tramped off, hundreds of miles, till 
the reached her husband, and heard of the wonders the 
Lord was working by his hand. There was but one purse 
and one heart between them all, and though the purse was 
but a slim one, and the heart but a grim one, there was a 
majesty and strength about the union. 

Incendiaiy and agitator as he knew him to be, "Warren 
Sutherland felt, from the first moment of their meeting, 
that he stood in the presence of a man who, however mis- 
taken and misled, was as sincere as himself, and perhaps 
more earnest, in the business of saving souls. There is no 
fear, between two men solely and unselfishly devoted to 
such a cause, and serving the same Master, only from 
unworldly love of that Master, of personal enmities and 
petty strifes. Between two such there can be no dissimu 
lation; they recognize the badge that each wears in his 
heart ; they both are enlisted in a service that breeds 
jealousy only as the original love for it dies out ; they may 
hate the errors that mar the creed of the other, but, 

" Christ'B mark outwears the rankest blot ;" , 

they cannot hate each other. And so it came to pass that 
the young English divine, fresh from the straitest school of 
bis religion, and the staunch old hero of a hundred hereti- 
i*jil fights, grasped each other's hands on the threshold of 




THE SUTHEBLANDS. 95 

this new field, and read " Christian '* in each other's eyes. 
Not that one lost sight, however, for a moment, of the 
other's errors of belief. The Reverend Pertinax pounded 
new anathemas from his well-worn pulpit against thb pomps 
and vanities, the forms and ceremonies of the dying church 
from which he had come out; while the Reverend Warren, 
gathering his little flock about him, bade them pray ear- 
nestly the prayer against heresy and schism, and showed 
them the true beauty of the form of sound words they held, 
and the safety and sublimity of the faith that had descended 
to them from the Saints. Not much headway, however, 
did the younger man for awhile seem to make in the pro- 
pounding of his more refined and quiet creed to hia 
untaught hearers. It was very much easier to rant and 
rave and shout glory, than to learn rationally what glory 
meant, and what was the best and wisest way of gaining a 
hope of it. And besides the natural opposition of the 
unregenerate heart to the exact discipline it requires, was 
to be added the wholesale opposition to all religious efforts 
of the great man of the place, and the great man of the 
preacher's family ._ 

Ralph Sutherland was not one to bear quietly the ema 
nating from his household of anything that savored of the 
system to which he had long avowed his hatred, and 
Warren was soon taught what he must expect. They were 
welcome to a home in his house, they might spend their 
lives there if they chose; but as to tampering with his 
servants, starting schools or holding services on his pre- 
mises, he warned them to desist from any thought of it ; he 
forbade the least suggestion of it. The moment he caught 



96 THE BUTHKELANDS. 

a hint of it, his hospitality should end ; they must seek 
another home. Family prayers, catechism of the slaves, 
Sunday services, were severally and distinctly refused and 
placed under the ban of his heaviest displeasure. 

" I can but wait and try to melt his prejudices," thought 
Warren, with a patient sigh. "He is the head of the 
house ; I must submit while I am here. If he remains 
inexorable, I must find Laura and myself another home." 

And to waiting, that hardest kind of service, he was 
faithful for two long, weary months ; when, at the end of 
that time, his uncle suddenly and ungraciously gave in to 
his desires, and agreed to relinquish his determined oppo- 
sition. Warren knew there must be a moving cause for 
such a revolution as this, but was at a loss in which direc- 
tion to look for it. 

Perhaps if he had been at Grey Dirck's heels on the 
evening of the 28th of August, as the morose old man 
untethered him from the white birch by the creek, half way 
on the lonely road from the Stadt to the village, he would 
not have been at so great a loss to divine his uncle's 
motives. If he had seen the diminished package of letters 
replaced in the saddle-bags, and the cautious look around 
the old man ^ave before he stooped down and scattered 
the handful of tiny white bits of paper he held, on the 
tumbling, foaming creek as it hurried by, he might have 
nazarded a conjecture that news from home had something 
to do with his uncle's sudden yielding; that news from 
home had made their staying at the farm a thing to be 
desired and plotted for. And if he had seen the ugly look 
of satisfaction that settled round his hard mouth, uglier 



THE 8UTHEELANDS. 97 

even than his look of anger, as he mounted and rode away, 
glancing back through the gathering twilight at the white 
flakes hurrying down the creek, he would at once have 
feared and wondered. 

The saddle-bag was lighter by three of the weight of 
letters with which it had started from the Stadt, and the 
Catskill was heavier by two. They did not seem to Ke 
heavy, though, on the seared conscience of him who knew 
their whereabouts ; the law document buttoned up within 
his surtout was only a burden as it had to be concealed, 
only a sin when it should find him out. 

Nor did they seem to lie heavy on the heart of the Cats- 
kill either, as they fluttered and danced and hurried away 
with its swiftly receding waters. Pale ghosts of the love 
that had sent them, cold phantoms of the hopes that hung 
on them, they had stopped just short of their haven, and 
sailed •faithlessly back toward the great river that had 
brought them from the sea. Now lagging in some smooth 
inlet, now eddying round some jutting rock, or drawn 
shuddering over some swift waterfall, they glanced and 
flashed all night long in the moonlight, ghost-like and white 
and faithless. And ghost-like and white and faithless grew 
the hope in Warren Sutherland's heart, as this night chilled 
it with vague disappointment and renewed regret. 



CHAPTER VIL 

THE LITTLK WHITE GHOSTS ON THE CAT&KU^L, 

** There was a hardness in his check, 
* There was a hardness in his eye, 

As if the man had fixed his face 
In many a solitary pkce, 
Against the wind and open sky/' 

Wordsworth. 

Since Ralph Sutherland had started for the Stadt at 
three o'clock that afleraoon, Laura had been counting the 

hours with ill-controlled impatience. She had not allowed 
herself to hope for letters from home till now, but to-day 
must bring them. Last week's mail had come without 
bringing news of any foreign arrival, but every ODfe said 
some ship must have reached ere this. Ralph had held 
one of his long old-country talks with Warren in the morn- 
ing, and at dinner had announced his intention of riding 
down for the mail himself, instead of sending Amen, whose 
weekly duty it had lately been. 

" Would he be back before supper ?" Laura had asked 
timidly of Lawrence after dinner. "Doubtful," he had 
answered, carelessly, as he walked off toward the barn. 
But the doubt had settled into a certainty as the long after- 
noon wore away, and the horn for supper sounded, and the 
twilight came slowly and surely on. 

It had been a genuine August day, thick, ijlose and hot, 
and the sun had gone down looking dusky red and giving 

98 



THE SUTHEELANDS. 99 

every promise of repeating himself to-morrow ; the family 
had one by one strayed out among the grass and shrubbery 
in front of the house, and tried to imagine dew where 
there was none, and refreshment that was not to come 
tliat thirsty night. 

The sleepless insects filled the thick air with their hot 
dry chirp ; not the faintest breath of wind stirred the lan- 
guid flowers ; rest and motion, idleness and occupation, 
were alike discomfort. Mrs. Sutherland was the only one 
of the group who did not yield to the impatient, fruitless 
impulse to better herself, and sat quietly knitting just 
within the door ; Larry walked about the paths or lay at 
full length on the grass, equally uncomfortable and equally 
irritable in every attitude ; Warren, resolutely self-con- 
trolled, looked wan and ill as he paced up and down the 
walk before the door, while Laura, quite renouncing self 
control, pulled the flowers of the creeper to atoms where 
they grew within her reach, or clashed her fan open and 
shut impatiently, as she sauntered to the gate and back 
twenty times in the course of a half hour, looking vainly 
for the desired approach of Grey Dirck and his grisly 
rider. Nattce, leaning out of the dining-room window, or 
stealing about on unnecessary and self-imposed embassies 
around the yard, perhaps did not feel the heat so much 
through her clear, thick, sun-proof skin, as she felt the 
intangible magnetic oppression of the night, so full of some 
inexplicable discomfort. Nattee's clothes did not feel too 
tight for her, either, as her well-dressed betters' clothes 
felt, for they barely touched her free limbs anywhere ; but 
sympathetically and unconsciously, she felt uncomfortable 



100 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

and unhappy, restless and impatient. Master Lariy wai 
cross, Master Warren was silent. Miss Laura neither noticed 
nor spoke to her. 

At last, however, a hope flashed through the darkness 
of her discouragement. Her quick eyes caught sight, far 
down the road, of her master's approach ; to he the bearer 
of that intelligence surely must bring the reward of a smile 
from Miss Laura. So darting through the shrubbery that 
intei*vened between her and the family group, she startled 
them by appearing suddenly before them and exclaiming, 
" Massa's 'most here, Miss Laura !" 

She was rewarded by seeing Miss Laura start forward 
excitedly, spilling the glass of water she was just taking 
from Lawrence's hand, and hurry toward the gate, utterly 
ignoring gratitude to the bearer of the intelligence and 
apologies to her cousin. Nattee saw the ominous dark red 
flush dawn on his face as he watched the flutter of her 
white dress down the path, and gazed fascinated at his 
gathering wrath, till, as usual, it burst on her own head. 
Spoiled Mr. Lawrence Sutherland did not like to be looked 
at when he was out of temper, as who does ? And when 
he found the dark, eager eyes of the slave bent silently and 
curiously on his face, no one at all at home in his position 
can wonder that he sent her fluttering off to the house with 
a ringing reprimand for her loitering and impertinence, and 
despised himself for it the next instant, and hated the sight 
of her for the next week, as suggestive of a s^lf-reproach. 

The self-reproach, however, she never heard of; the sud- 
den, harsh rebuke was never softened, and choking back 
her tears, poor Nattee crept miserably into the house, only 



THE SUTHEKLANDS. 101 

cerlain of one thing in the perplexing, uncomfortable world 
in which she found herself, and that was, that, do what she 
might, she was certain to do wrong. 

Laura'9 courage failed as she reached the gate ; she did 
not dare to stop her uncle and ask him for the letters, and 
without looking toward her, he rode past, and up to the 
barn. There were none of the men in sight, so dismount- 
ing, he fastened Dirck's halter to the nearest post, and 
walked slowly down toward the cow-yard, ostensibly to 
superintend the milking, but really to work up as much as 
practicable the temper of the young lady he had seen wait- 
ing at the gate. After some ten long-drawn minutes, how- 
ever, he walked slowly back again, purposely avoiding the 
front gate, and going in at the kitchen door. This was 
unendurable ; running across the grass, Laura followed 
him over the threshold, and coming up behind him, said, 
timidly : 

" Uncle, did you find any letters for us ?" 

He said, " What ?" looked as if he did not know who 
she was or what she was talking about, but finally remem- 
bered, griiffly, there were some in one of the saddle-bags 
on Dirck's back. 

For no permission did she wait, but flying out again, 
paused neither for breath nor reflection till she stood by 
the stable door. Just outside of it, haltered to a post, 
stood Dirck. And a more unassuring object to approach, 
with the one exception of his master, the young lady never 
remembered to have confronted. She made a little motion 
to advance, but the great brute, with one effort straighten* 
ing the halter out to its extreme length, Ktood with his head 



102 THE SUTHEELANDB. 

slightly raised, one hoof just lifted from the ground, and 
the villainous intelligence of his eye fixed full upon her. 
She shrank back of course, and looked hurriedly around for 
somebody to help her ; but Warren, with his back to her, 
was pacing the walk as she had left him, suffering inward 
tortures of impatience, but outwardly self-controlled and 
quiet. Lawrence she would not call, though he was within 
sound of her voice, which Warren was not. He always 
had a laugh in his eye when her fear of the animals was 
alluded to; besides, she would never stoop to ask any 
favor of •him, and she was ashamed, too, to let him hear 
her call to Nattee. None of the men were in sight ; they 
never were when they were wanted. 

She stood for some seconds, fluttering with fear and 
indecision, not daring to advance and not resigned to 
retreat, when it occurred to her she should be braver if 
she got that horrible eye off her ; so she described a small 
circle, and essayed to approach him from the rear. But 
with Satanic sagacity, just as she neared him, he backed 
off, and twisted the halter till he brought a three-quarter 
face to bear upon her. She retreated two steps and gasped 
for breath. This was aggravating, indeed, but she must, 
she would have those letters. With parted lips and quick- 
ened breath, she advanced two steps and put out her hand, 
at which Dirck backed again, more suddenly and more 
portentously than before, bringing each individual iron 
down upon the ground with an emphasis which shook it 
sensibly. 

This time she fled, in palpitating terror, to the adjacent 
shelter of the bam; half crying with vexation and half 



THE BUTHERLANDB. 102 

fainting with fright, she leaned against the door-post and 
looked fearfully back upon him. Her curiosity and 
impatience, however, at length sustained her in another 
sortie. On this occasion, Dirck made no demonstration 
with his hoofs, but as she stole up toward him, he slightly 
lowered and advanced his head. 

Not suddenly, not violently ; but before the expression 
of that fiery eye and that distended nostril, iron and 
muscle paled their ineffectual fires; she screamed and 
clasped her hands together and ran back, only checked 
in her precipitate retreat by Lawrence's approach. Lean- 
ing over the gate, he had watched the little farce, till he 
had forgiven, on the ground of her extreme prettiness 
alone, the pretty coward who had just aggravated him so 
bitterly; and resolving he didn't care a rush who her 
letters came from, nor why she wanted them, and voting 
himself a good fellow for his resolution, he had come to 
the rescue. 

" Wliat is it you want from the saddle-bag ?** he said 
carelessly, as she stopped trembling before him, 

"The— the letters." 

" Wait a moment, I'll get them for you.'* 

" Thank you," said Laura meekly, and waited. 

Lawrence went up to Dirck, who had begun to move 
restlessly up and down, and pull at his halter, and bringing 
his open hand heavily down on the horse's muscular 
haunch, he arrested all further movement effectually, and 
plunging his hand into the saddle-bag, brought up the 
coveted package. He watched narrowly the young lady's 
expression as he approached her; gratitude, kindness, 



104 THE SUTHEELANDS 

coquetry, no ; her eyes never got above the package in his 
hands. He raised it for a moment, and held it from her, 
as if to make her speak or look at him ; but the childish, 
hungry eyes followed it alone, and almost tossing it into 
her hands, he turned contemptuously away. 

It was nearly dark, and Laura, springing into the hall, 
cried — 

" A light, Nattee, a light— quick !" 

And Warren, after a moment, quietly followed. If h€ 
saw at all the superscription of the letters, as he bent ovei 
them, he saw them with the eyes of his soul, for his actual 
vision was blurred and dim with the strong excitement 
that he held in such stern check. 

" There are yours, Warren,'* cried Laura, pushing three 
over to him, and eagerly tearing open her own. 

He sat down and leaned his head back on the chair for o 
moment, then put out his hand and took up the first letter 
it touched. It was from the Society's secretary, and he 
read it through twice without deriving much satisfaction 
or enlightenment from the reading. The fact was, the 
reverend gentleman hadn't much to say, and he said it 
wordily and pompously. The second letter was from the 
old clerk of Borringdon church, quaint and prosy; but each 
toppling, high-backed word sent a homesick pain through 
the reader's heart ; the old parish names, that were so 
ringingly familiar, and the old parish troubles and bicker- 
ings,, that were lately of such interest, took him back, 
all through the weary length of his trial, to the home and 
pleasures that were dead to him forever. Beyond parish 
difficulties, however, the writer did not get, except to 



THB SUTHERLANDS. 105 

record the intelligence that the family had not yet returned 
to the park, and were not expected for some time, and 
then he signed himself, "Your Reverence's obedient 
servant, Abraham Murdoch.'' 

The third and last letter was from Mr. Edward Barclay, 
and was dated Genoa, The gouty uncle, on whom all hia 
hopes were fastened, had suddenly found himself restlessly 
inclined, and Edward had concluded to be restlessly 
inclined too. So they were jogging about the continent 
as suited the caprice and comfort of the old gentleman, 
and how long it would be before they returned to 
England, the nephew could venture no sort of calculation. 
" It behooves me, my dear fellow, you see," he wrote, *' to 
put my impatience in my pocket, where humoring m,on 
oncle is concerned. I only hope he will not take it into 
his head to spend the balance of his days abroad, and ruin 
my prospects at the bar. In any case, however, I know 
you'll agree,' I have honestly earned whatever littlo 
souvenir he may accord me in his will, even to the whole 
of his estate. Apropos of uncles, I see by the papers 
from home to-day, old Col. Sutherland is dead. I think, 
however, you gave me to understand, you had nothing 
to hope for in that quarter, so I need not build upon 
seeing you recalled from your Quixotic enterprise, to 
take possession of his comfortable acres, and preach the 
gospel to English sinners, who, taking him for an exam- 
ple, I can't help thinking, need it as much as Indian 
sinners. 

" A few days before I left London, I dined with our 
common fiiends in Portland Place. You and yonr recent 

6* 



106 THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 

departure were spoken of and generally regretted. I had 
the honor of taking to dinner Sir Charles' pretty cousin, 
Miss Gregory. What a beauty she is, to be sure ! I d^ 
not wonder at Sir Charles.*' 

" Who is your letter from, Laura ?" 

Laura felt the weariness and disappointment of his tone, 
and there was weary disappointment in her own, as she said, 
handing the open sheet to him — 

" Only Mrs. Holt." 

Mrs. Holt, her dear old governess, wrote a very kind 
and affectionate letter, but it did not fill up the measure 
of her anticipated pleasure ; it just showed her, other 
letters might have come, and had not — that other people 
might have remembered her, and had not. Rather a silent 
and lifeless party sat around the table, for the hour that 
remained of their accustomed evening. Lawrence read 
the " Lidependent Reflector " of the week before, and 
made no comment, and Warren read the English papers, 
and offered none. Laura read the unsatisfactory letters 
over and over again, and at last, silent and spiritless, went 
across the room, and sat by the open window, leaning 
against the casement, and looking out into the hot, still 
night. Her uncle, lying back in his great chair opposite, 
slept, or affected sleep, and there was no one to see or to 
reproach her for the slow tears that gathered in her eyes. 
The darkness without was welcomer than the light within, 
and sLe did not move from her first attitude, till startled 
by a pair of eyes gleaming through the bushes beside the 
window. 

It was only Amen, and nobody was ever surprised to see 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 107 

Amen anywhere, so she took no further notice of him than 
to say — 

" Where have you been since dinner, boy ? Nattee has 
been hunting for you everywhere." 

The imp sniggered and twisted, and availed himself of 
that weighty arm of defence wielded solely by them of 
Africa, a grinning silence. White servants generally ruin 
themselves by their bungling excuses and evasions, but 
black ones, richer in inherent cunning, hold their tongues, 
and drive their accusers to the wall. It was useless to 
interrogate Amen. He wriggled and chuckled and 
remained speechless, even under the lash, and old Suther- 
land, held to be a master in the art of reduction, had 
never got a word out of him when he chose to play that 
part. There was no higher satisfaction in thrashing him 
than in thrashing so much india-rubber, and the old man 
was too thorough a sensualist to pursue what gave him so 
little gratification, and Amen, now-a-days, not only shirked 
the work, but shirked the whipping too, and held his 
tongue or talked, just as seemed agreeable to him. On this 
occasion, after finding that holding his tongue did not aggra- 
vate Miss Laura, he began to talk with a view to that end. 

" I've been so scared. Miss Laura," he whimpered, " Pvo 
Been ghosts." 

Miss Laura's eyes looked as if she saw ghosts too, out 
in the darkness, ghosts that saddened more than scared her, 
but she did not speak. He crept along up to the window, 
and putting his arms on the sill, and peering into the room, 
went on speaking in a stage whisper, which was audible in 
every comer. 



108 THE SUTHBRLAND8. 

" When I was comin' across lots, from the mowin' field 
down there, I stopped at the creek to get a drink, just by 
the ole white hirch — and what d'ye think, Miss Laura—- 
what d'ye think ? Little white ghosts was floatin' all over 
the water, jumpin' up an' down, some of 'em flying in the 
air, some of 'em stickin' to the stones an' grass. Ch, ye 
never see the like. I'm all of a tremble, I'm so scared !" 

And laying his head down on his arms, he leered about 
the room, and shook with silent laughter, as he saw the old 
man in his chair start and mutter, then compose himself 
hurriedly to his pretended sleep. 

" Would you like to see one. Miss Laura ?" he went on, 
with his eye on his master's face. " I caught a lot and 
put'em in my pocket. I've got 'em here— put out your 
hand — don't be scared " 

But at this moment the sleeper rose and shook himself, 
and throwing a muttered curse at the boy, bade him take 
himself off to bed. The boy whined, as he limped off, cast- 
ing a villainous look back at his master ; 

" You never seed'm, them there ghosts, I s'pose, massa, 
did ye ?" 

Seeing his uncle fully awake, Warren rose and handed 
him a paper 'containing the news he felt uncomfortable 
about communicating ; not that he anticipated any demon- 
stration of grief from the old man at his brother's death, 
but that he dreaded hearing some gross and angry impre- 
cations on his memory, and to Warren the defenceless dead 
were sacred. In this, however, he was somewhat disap- 
pointed. His uncle sat down and read the announcement 
silently, pondered thou a:ht fully on it for several minutes, 



I 



THE SUTHEELANDS. 109 

then pushing the paper away from him said grimly aa he 
rose: 

''' Well, he's gone to his long account, and his going or 
his staying makes little odds to me — and little odds to you, 
either, I'm thinking, lad." 

He did not desire or wait for an answer, but after he 
had left the room, Warren said thoughtfully, " That is 
truer than I like to think." Lawrence, laying down his 
paper, asked, " How long since you have seen Col. Suther- 
land ?" 

" Never since I was a lad ; nothing could induce him to 
come to our house or to be reconciled to ray father ; but he 
once sent an invitation to my mother to let us come to him 
on a visit. Do you remember it, Laura ? It was a grim 
time, and Laura cried night and day till she was taken 
home. I was braver, and stood it out a little longer, but 
neither of us felt any inclination to try his hospitality again; 
. though I have sometimes thought the old man was hunger- 
ing more than he chose to own for sympathy and compan- 
ionship. I really think he yearned after little Laura, though 
she was so homesick, and liked her honesty in not con- 
cealing it more than resented its occurrence." 

•' Poor, unhappy gentleman !" said Laura, coming to the 
table and leaning against Warren's chair ; " how strange 
that we should know so little of him, and care so little for 
his death." 

" 1 do not think we can blame ourselves ; his prejudices, 
to call them by their mildest name, were such as necessa- 
rily cut him off from our companionship. No one, calling 
himself a Christian, could submit to be guided by him, 



110 THE 8XJTHBELANDS. 

and guide he would all whom he admitted to his hospi- 
tality." 

" W&at becomes of his property?" asked Lawrence. 

" His intention, I think, has been to found a hospital, 
though I am not sure that he had fully developed the plan 
before his death. He has made no secret, however, of his 
firm determination that not a farthing of it shall come to 
any one bearing the name of Sutherland ; so I presume we 
are not at all interested, personally, in the matter of its dis- 
posal. But one cannot help feeling a wish that so much 
money should be well bestowed, and a curiosity to know 
the result of such a man's hours of solitude and reflection." 

Long after Laura had given her good-night kiss to her 
brother, and her good-night courtesy to her cousin, the two 
young men sat together talking over this family news, and 
the reminiscences it awakened. Both, however, were very 
imperfectly acquainted with the history of the last genera- 
tion of Sutherlands ; Warren liad only heard his father's 
story, and Lawrence had heard nothing but what was 
casual and inadvertent. K they could have known the 
truth, they would have saved themselves some wonder and 
perplexity. 

Colonel Sutherland was the eldest of three sons of a well- 
born country gentleman of shire, the entail of whose 

estate stopped with this generation. Fortunately, perhaps, 
for successive growths of extravagant owners had worn it 
down to the quick, and to have restored it to its proper 
state would have required more money than the whole jiro- 
perty of the Sutherland family, personal and real, would 
have brought under the hammer of the auctioneer. The 



^ 



THE SUTHERLAKDS. Ill 

heir, disgusted at the barren acres and bare coffers coming 
to him, entered the army, and was absent many years on 
foreign duty. At the age of thirty-two he returned to find 
his parents dead, his second brother settled as rector of a 
country parish not many miles from their native shire, and 
his youngest brother, Ralph, the self-appointed agent of th 
family estate. The acres were not quite so barren as for 
merly, but the coffers were barer, if the thing was possible ; 
woodland had been cleared, the boundaries of the farm had 
been curtailed, tenants had been oppressed and ground 
down, all that the land could yield had been extracted from 
it, young Ralph had lived in a niggardly and pinching 
manner in one of the smallest houses on the estate, the 
family mansion had been long closed, and all the family ser- 
vants had been dismissed,' and yet there was no accumula- 
tion of rents or produce to be rendered to the suddenly- 
returned master ; no account to be made to him of the five 
years' income of his farm. 

Colonel Sutherland, though not a man of business, was a 
man of keenness and decision, and from the moment he saw 
the old young man, whom he had left an undeveloped boy 
— with his hard dry manner and his ugly eye — he dis- 
trusted and despised him, and resolved to leave no stone 
unturned, and to spare no vigilance, in investigating and 
bringing to the light his transactions since their father's 
death. And the result was the discovery that he had been 
cheated and outwitted, that he had hardly a third of Iiis 
estate remaining, and that, without a hopeless blackening of 
the family name before the world, he could have no redress, 
and must bear, with what patience he was mastci of, the 



112 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

villainy of his Lrother and the loss of his property. Whis* 
pers, to be sure, of the cause of Ralph's sudden departure 
for America got abroad ; forgery and manifold villainies, it 
was rumored, had aroused the high-tempered heir beyond 
reason and endurance, and in the stormv scene that had 
ended their reckonings, the life of the younger had nearly 
puid the forfeit of his foul deeds. 

However that may have been, Col. Sutherland was from 
that time a changed and embittered man. He had come 
back from his long wanderings, through all of which he had 
carried a soldier's love of home deep and sacred in his heart, 
to find treachery and meanness waiting for him there, and the 
blow that this disappointment dealt, he could not meet with 
Christianity nor bear with humbleness. Honor had been 
his only god, and insulted, now cried day and night in his 
ears the dangerous lesson of implacable resentment. The 
large-hearted, charity-loving rector never could be brought 
to think the evil of his younger brother that the elder 
thought. He was unworldly and trusting, and Ralph had 
always been obsequious and brotherly, and though he did 
not feel that satisfaction in him that he had hoped for, ho 
could not easily condemn him ; and so, Col. Sutherland swore 
they had played into each other's hands ; the " mealy- 
mouthed rector" Avas the partner of the swindling knave * 
they were both liars and villains at heart ; they had dis 
graced the name of gentleman, and outraged all the laws ol 
honor and religion, and though the surplice shielded the 
one, and the name of Sutherland the other, from the open 
obloquy they merited, neither should cross his threshhold 
again, or share his hospitality or forgiveness ; implacable. 



% 



THE bUTHEBLANDS. 113 

deadly hatred, while life lasted, between hiin and his 
father's sons. 

Perhaps, though he never acknowledged it, time did in 
a measure wear these resolutions out. For many years, 
whUe there was work to do, in retrieving what had been 
lost, in bending his whole life to the repairing and restora- 
tion of his fortune, he had nursed his hatred, and had found 
it gave hira strength to work; but when all was done, 
when by long years of retrenchment and industry he had 
brought his estate into value once more, and found himself 
a richer man than any of his name had been for many, 
generations — when he sat down in his great, lonely, cheer- 
hess house, where no child's laugh ever echoed and no 
woman's smile ever shone, perhaps he found his revenge 
had hurt himself more than it had hurt any other. He had 
much time for thought, many lonesome hours in which to 
ponder over his past ; indeed, he had not much other food 
for thought, and though the heathen plan on which he had 
begun his life, had not brought hirp much inward peace or 
satisfaction, he was not prepared to give it up. 

The letter of his resolution he still must hold to ; he 
never would see his brother, never would forgive him ; but 
he heard with a jealous ear all that concerned the two 
children who made the humble rector's home a happier one 
than his, and stepped down from his grim pedestal to 
receive them, and would fain have won their affection if he 
could. But the children were much fonder of their own 
' home than of his, and their father was too honest and 
simple-mindei to oblige them to deny it. The gloomy old 
man, though, never forgot the change that visit made ir 



114 THJB 8TJTHEELANDS. 

his dreary home, and night and day plotted to gain them 
back without a compromise of his heathenism. Yeais 
passed on, and he seemed no nearer the attainment of his 
wishes than he had been at first, when the news of his 
brother's death suddenly cleared the way for him. Greedy 
yet crafty, he resolved to wait till they should have gone 
through the bitterness of their mourning, till they should 
have been perplexed which way to turn in providing for 
themselves, till they should have given up all hope of help 
from him, and then, he would step in, and offer them a 
home and full provision for the future. He gloated over 
his plan, gave his long unoccupied days and sleepless nights 
to the preparing and perfecting it, and just when it was 
ripe, the news came, that hopeless of any other home, they 
had accepted the hospitality of their uncle Ralph, and had 
sailed two days before for America. The blow proved too 
much for his weakened faculties; a levelling stroke of 
paralysis resulted, which was soon followed by his death. 

And Ralph Sutherland, since he read the news of his 
brother's death in that thick, August twilight, by the 
white birch on the Catskill, hankered greedily after those 
rich acres and overflowing coffers. Though he had always 
professed a scorn for the land he had left, and a love for 
the land of his adoption, in his secret heart, the old family- 
place, the old home where long ago he had lived innocent 
and unremorseful, were better to him than all the promise 
of the West. He did not love his new home, rich and 
productive as it was ; it was bought with the first wages 
of his dishonest life, and even to his seared taste, that 
recollection gave it a bitter flavor. He hated with tli« 



I 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 11 



6 



whole force of his nature the brother who had so humbled 
and insulted him ; and the sweet hope of gratifying at 
once his avarice and his rancor, seemed suddenly to have 
given new life to his prematurely decaying faculties. To 
secure Laura for Lawrence, and to bind the young clergy- 
man firmly to his duties here, were his present strongest 
purposes; and some very darling hopes seemed to hang 
upon his success in their accomplishment. 



CHAPTER Vni. 

THlfi LIGHT GOES OUT IN STEADY 'S HOMB. 

" Dark grow the windows 
And quenched is the fire ; 
Sound fades into silence — 
All footsteps retire. 

** Darker and darker 

The black shadows fall ; 

Sleep and oblivion 

Reign over all." 

Longfellow, 

Miss Laura Sutherland, though as well disciplined 

and properly disposed a young lady as even those days of 

discipline and propriety often produced, still cherished 

covertly a good deal of the romance to which her age and 

sex are ever prone. The darkness in which those old-time 

hearts were kept, indeed, could not but be favorable to 

romance, not half so blasting to it as the shadowless, broad 

noontide of maiden meditation now-a-days. Pull down the 

bars, let in the sunshine, and the haunting phantoms of 

fancy are gone ; shadows and dimness and dreaminess are 

their surest strength and safety. And little else they 

need, as Laura*s case exemplified, for one good honest 

flood of daylight would have shown her the unsubstantial 

nature of the tenant " her heart's most secret cell " had 

harbored for a year, a tenant who had taken possession 

solely on the strength of a most melting pair of black eyes, 
lie 



THE 8UTHEKLANDS. 117 

a dazzling UDifonn, and an ardent admiration for herself. 
An admiration of course smothered under the most chival- 
rous and reverential poUtesse^ according to the manner of 
the day, and the manner of the young lady who was the 
object of the well-bred passion, but which suggestive 
Bystem, nevertheless, set her heart beating quite as fest, 
and filled her head quite as full of " foolish notions " as the 
most free and easy fashion of the present could have done. 
Inasmuch as it left more room for imagination, and less 
space for conamon sense, it may be said to be the more 
effective system of the two ; and perhaps our grandfathers, 
in their stilted love-making and finger-tip devotion, 
showed more knowledge of the female heart than we have 
given them credit for. At all events, they were successful 
lovers, or they would not have been our grandfathers ; and 
though we have spun so far ahead of them, it is barely 
possible, if we could snatch the leisure, a little retrospection 
might mellow and enrich our shiny, brand-new wisdom, by 
comparison, if in no other way. 

This Captain Lacy, who had been so successful in making 
himself remembered by the pretty Laura, had had but very 
short grace to suggest his admiration and secure her 
favor. Two or three never-to-be-forgotten days while his 
regiment was encamped near Borringdon, two sets at the 
county ball, an hour at the next day's archery meeting, a 
moment's glance, bending from his saddle, as the Park 
carriage passed him, on parade, were the only, but the 
golden opportunities he had found for making himself 
master of the sweetest, coyest little heart that ever beat, 
and giving it food for long hours of dreaming and hopbig 



118 THE SUTHEKLAND8. 

and fearing, and occasion for frightened starts and guilty 
flushes whenever any careless lip or prying eye questioned 
of or intruded into its sacred, foolish secret. TJiis fancied 
trial, standing in the background of the real ones, of 
course, just then, had yet made doubly hopeless the adieu 
to home : for the graves of these " darlings of blind fancy 
dead and gone," though they are soon overgrown and 
neglected, and very willingly forgotten, have many bitter 
tears shed over them at first, and are not at all cheer- 
fuller of contemplation because they are unwise and 
inexcusable. 

What precise portion of the habitable globe Captain 
Lacy had made gloiious with his presence since the period 
of the encampment of the 47th at Borringdon, Laiira had 
had no accurate means of informing herself, for being too 
timid and too conscious to suggest the question to any one 
who could have enlightened her, she was obliged to grope 
blindly about the papers for any intelligence she could glean 
in respect to that gallant company. But newspapers were 
unsatisfactory things as regarded personalities, she found ; 
compounders of them seemed to have such widely different 
views from herself of what were subjects of interest and 
importance, and only a very occasional paragraph now and 
then, choked up in weary columns of politics and markets, 
gave her any clue to the whereabouts of the only detach- 
ment of his majesty's army in whose whereabouts she felt 
any interest. A month or two before she left England, 
however, she had lost track of it entirely : she had prO" 
bably missed the paragraph that recorded its transfer to 
some foreign station, and now it might be months agaio 



THE BtirHESLANDS. 119 

before there was any news of it. Poor Laura was quite 
sure there was never any girl so unhappy before, and 
looked pale and pretty as she bent over her embroidery, 
dreaming idly, and living over and over again the few gay 
scenes of romance that had opened upon her quiet life. 

" A thousand little shafts of flame," indeed, " wen 
shivered in her narrow frame," when, one rainy evening 
the candles being lighted early, and the family early 
assembled round them, Lawrence, reading the " Gazette," 
stumbled upon some war news that seemed to strike him 
as of sufficient interest to read aloud, and which proved of 
sufficient interest to make Laura turn red and white, and 
tremble and drop her work, and make herself generally 
noticeable. The 4'7th, it appeared, were at present assist- 
ing at the siege of Quebec ; last month had distinguished 
themselves in a skirmish with the Indians, which had 
resulted in great destruction to their barbarous foes, and 
was only to be regretted inasmuch as several men and two 
or three valuable officers had been seriously wounded in 
the engagement. 

Warren looked interested, made some comment, but 
after a moment resumed his book. ' Mrs. Sutherland looked 
distressed at the mention of bloodshed and suffering, 
thought a moment " how must their poor mothers feel," 
and went on with her knitting. Very inadvertently, Law- 
rence's eye fell on Laura's agitated, guilty face, flushing 
and paling as he had never seen it flush and pah before, 
and her breath coming quick and short through her parted 
lips. A long, steady glance he fixed upon her, and liftin^is^ 
her eyes suddenly, she caught it, and from that instant the 



120 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

crimson was victorious, and flung its banner over all her 
fair white skin. She had betrayed her secret, and betrayed 
it to the last one from whom to look for generosity or 
mercy. Ob, if it were only back again safe in her own 
keeping, deep down in her miserable, cowardly heart ! It 
looked like such a strange and dreadful thing now that it 
was dragged out into the light, and gazed at by other eyes, 
and made a rei\Jity of, and handled as a fact. It had 
seemed harmless enough when it was shut tight in by fear, 
%nd pride, and shame : it was unmaidenly, sinful, humbling, 
when it saw the light. 

The ball of worsted over which she was bending slipped 
from her fingers and rolled across the floor. Lawrence got 
up coolly and followed it to the corner where it had stayed 
its flight, picked it up, and winding it slowly, came back 
to where she sat. It was deliberately cruel, for she had 
nothing to do but sit submissive and condemned before 
him while he looked steadily at her and wound that dread- 
ful worsted. She could not raise her eyes, nor say " thank 
you," as he held it out to her, and the hand she extended 
for it shook so that it nearly fell again. 

Oh, the misery of that long evening ! But whether the 
tears that fell when she reached her room owed theii 
origin to vexation, or sorrow, or shame, or joy, or aU, 
Laura could not have decided for her life. 

It was a soft, warm September afternoon ; the air out 
Bide was rich with the mellow ripeness of an autumn atmos- 
phere, but within the stone house there was a feeUng of 
chilliness and dampness that had not got out since the early 
morning, and Laura, who had bent perseveringly over her 



THE BUTHERLAND8. 121 

eiabroidery for three conscientious hours since dinner, 
gazed longingly out of the window. All the morning she 
had spent over her books, as Warren had recommended, 
and now she looked unelastic an4 languid enough to have 
frightened that strict young disciplinarian out of his rules 
forever, if he had been by to see. But he was not ; no 
one, in fact, was, and with a weary sigh she leaned back in 
her chair, and pushed the hair away from her forehead. 
What good was all that work, " red with the blood of 
murdered time," ever to do her, she wondered. What use 
was there, either, in the dull dry books she tried to be 
patient over so long every sunshiny morning — ^books out 
of which she did not get a single thought, or the suggestion 
of a thought that gave her pleasure — dull, stale, chaffy 
records of dull, stale facts ? They might be good as dis- 
cipline, but for some cause she fretted against discipline 
to-day. She pineal to feel like Nattee, and be at home in 
the fields and woods ; she was thirsty for the sunshine and 
the freedom of the air outside these walls. What if there 
were another hour's sand to creep through the slow hour- 
glass above her on the shelf before her task would be 
completed ! It might take its own time in going through, 
she should look at it no longer ; and starting up, she flung 
the covering over her tapestry frame, put away her books, 
and catching up her long grey cloak, pulled the hood of it 
over her head, and went out, passing through the kitchen 
on her way. 

That apartment, in its scrubbed, sunshiny afternoon 
phase, was tenanted only by Salome and her Indian hand- 

6 



122 THE BITTHEBLANDB. 

maid, and Laura, seeing the advanced state of the day'a 
work, ventured to say : 

" Salome, can't you spare Nattee to go into the woods 
with me a little while ?" 

But Salome, somewhat jealous of the favor lavished by 
the young •lady on her rather flighty assistant, sliook her 
head, and said she was sorry to misoblige Miss Laura, but 
Nattee was getting more shiftless every day ; she hadn't 
done work enough since breakfast to pay for her keep, and 
she couldn't, with any conscience, think of letting her go 
away till the afternoon chores were all done uj), and they 
were hardly begun as yet. 

Nattee, bending over a milk-pan, and scrubbing it with 
all her might, did not look up while Laura was in the 
kitchen, but dropping it hastily, she followed her to the 
gate, ready to cry with disappointment, but keeping up a 
brave behavior. She pointed out the road into the woods 
that Laura was to take, and leaned over the gate, watching 
her till the winding of the lane shut the grey cloak from 
her envious eyes. 

The gra$s felt warm and pleasant to Laura's slender 
feet, numb with their long day's inaction, and the autumn 
sunshine was so bright, yet so undazzling, that every chilled 
pulse seemed to warm into new life. The sky overhead 
was purely blue, not the ghost of a cloud from horizon to 
zenith ; the wind was still ; the woods were tinged with the 
first touch of autumn, and yet green with the lingering sum- 
mer ; the Flats, shorn of their recent wealth, or stacked with 
their year's produce, looked peaceful and harvest-like as 
they lay smooth beneath the slanting rays of the afternoon 



THE SUTHERLANDS. 12?. 

8UI1 ; the air, balmy as early stimmer, wias just that shade 
and tone more perfect than early summer, that the 
woman's beauty is softer and more alluring than the girPs, 
richer and riper, and fuller of repose, mello\r with the 
experience of a thoughtful past, quiet with the conscious- 
ness of a coming strength. This suggestion of bracing, 
invigorating days to come, that steals through September's 
softest breezes^ stole through even the noiseless wind of that 
perfect September day, and whispered of new hope with 
every breath, to the young exile from the softer but duskier 
skies of England. 

What a day for the woods ! She grudged the long hours 
she had wasted in the house, as she found her way along 
the rocky road Nattee had indicated to her. This was the 
first time she had been so far from the house alone, but 
there was nothing, she assured herself, to fear. The men 
talked of this piece of woodland as the *' Five-mile Woods," 
and the suggestion of their extent had rather disinclined 
her to frequent them hitherto ; but Nattee's directions had 
been so explicit, she had no fear of being lost, at least 
while daylight lasted. 

She had not pursued the path into the forest very far 
before, looking down below her, over the ledge of rock 
beside the path, she saw a solitary log cabin, standing by 
the edge of the wood. Such a snug, cosy little home it 
seemed to be, nestled down at the foot of the woody hill, 
with a little patch of garden beside it, and the great pine- 
trees leaning over it. And a child's pleasant voice, singing 
u familiar song, attracted her still further. Ah ! the child 
just matched the voice — a little girl about eight years old, 



124 THE 8UTHEELAND8. 

tanned and healthy looking, with brown hair cropped short 
all round her head, and a long, blue frock coming down tc 
the tops of her heavy shoes. She had great, brown, honest 
eyes, and a serious, unchild-like mouth, and withal there 
was a straightforward simplicity about her face, and a 
matter-of-fact regularity about her motions that made her 
as prepossessing as she was odd. 

" She's a darling little English child, I know," thought 
Laura. " Who can live in that house ? I've half a mind 
to go down and see." 

She watched some time longer, while the little girl, 
standing in the sunshine at the side of the house, cleaned 
her knives on a low bench, and sung her cheerful, simple 
song. No one else appearing while she watched, the young 
lady at length proceeded to descend the rocks, at consider- 
able disadvantage, owing to the burden of hoop and cloak 
she carried, and her entire unfamiHarity with rocks ; but at 
last she reached the mossy ground below, and gathering 
her cloak about her, approached the child, who, surprised, 
laid down her work and dropped a courtesy. 

" Your little house looked so pleasant, I concluded 
to come down and see it," she said, with her pretty 
smile. 

"Won't you come in," said the little girl, leading the 
way. 

Laura followed, saying hesitatingly : " Is your mother in 
the house ?" 

" Mother's dead," the child returned, placing a chair fof 
ber. 

"Who do you live with, then?" asked Laura, sitting 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 125 

down anvl glancing around the marvellously tidy, clieery 
room. 

"Father and I live here together," answered the little 
woman, standing straight before her. 

" And who does the work, and keeps it all so nice, 
pray ?" 

" I do the work indoors, and father splits the wood and 
keeps the garden orderly.'* 

" You ! oh, you little marvel ! Why, how old are you, I 
should like to know ?" 

" Eight this Michaelmas, ma'am.*' 

" I'm sure you're a little English girl !" 

" Yes, ma'am. I was a year old when we came from 
home." 

" How long has your mother been dead?" 

" She died on the passage out, and father brought me all 
the way here in his arms." 

"Have you no relations here? Did nobody ever live 
with you, to take care of you ?" 

" Nobody, ma'am. Father took the care of me always." 

" You haven't told me what your father's name is ?" 

" Mark Eberley, ma'am." 

" Oh, yes, I've seen him at the farm ; a strong, tall man, 
with eyes like yours. And what's your name, pray ?" 

" My name's Mary ; but father don't ever call me so. 
He calls me ' Little Steadfast,' or ' Steady ' sometimes, for 
short." 

" Little Steady ! What a funny name. I think 1 see the 
reason, too, you got it. Do you know r " 

"I don't know, only if it isn't because mother's name 



126 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

was Mary, and he don't like to be saying it round the 
house always." 

" Ah ! Little Steadfast, I shall come and see you some- 
times, and you shall show me how to bako bread, and 
make the milkpans shine, and how to be happy all the 
time." 

Little Steadfast looked pleased and rather laughed, 
though not exactly as if she were in the habit of laughing, 
and lai3 another stick on the bright little fire on the 
hearth, over which she had but just swung the kettle. 

" You've got the kettle on early, Steady," said her 
visitor. 

" Yes ; but father'll be home in an hour, and he likes his 
supper at five o'clock, sharp." 

" Where is he ?" 

" He's with the men from the farm, raising the new bam 
over the other side of the woods. It's a long way off, aud 
I'm afraid he won't be back as early as he is most days." 

" Well, Steady, I must go ; but I think I'll come very 
soon to see you, and bring you a picture-book, if you'd 
like it." 

It was very evident little Steadfast would like it, aud 
Laura resumed her walk, with a half-envious look back at 
her, as she stood contentedly in the door of the little cabin. 

What a day for the woods indeed 1 The sunlight flick- 
ered down through the many-colored leaves overhead and 
lighted up the dim aisles of the forest with a softened 
splendor ; here and there a late bird sang ; and over the 
smooth ledge of rock beside the path, a Virginia creeper, 
dyed gorgeous crimson, hung its careless fringes. And, 



THE SUTHERLAND 8. 127 

fV'hether following with wondering eyes the towerii.g 
height of some majestic tree, or kneeling with almost 
childish ecstasy before some strange and lovely bed of 
moss, Laura's heart was telling her, this was the life to live, 
these were the books to read, tliis was the embroidery over 
which to bend — this soft, rich, dainty covering that 
Nature weaves over rotting trunks of fallen trees, or 
around tinkling springs and tiny waterfalls, dripping 
through the rocks. This is the solitude that does not chill, 
the silence that does not sadden, the idleness that does not 
enervate. Thank God, there is one sort of love for earthly 
things that does not cramp and dull the heart — one sort of 
fove that has no sting, that brings no self-reproach and 
shame, that one can remember at one's prayers, and make 
the prayers the purer. The beautiful woods, the mountains 
painted against the sky, the sea stretched out vast beneath 
it — these we can love and not love God the less — these, till 
He makes a new heaven and a new earth for our eternal 
joy, are the safe and holy pleasures that He offers us. 

Laura, led on from one delight to another, had wandered 
deep into the woods before she remembered it must be 
growing late, and she was far from home. There was a 
chilly feeling in the air that warned her of the hour, so, 
pausing, she pulled her cloak closer round her throat, and 
resolved to retrace her steps. It was too sweet a scene to 
leave, though ! A huge grey rock, crested with moss and 
draped, with vines, frowned above her head, while from a 
crevice at its foot a stream of water fell down into a mossy 
bowl, and all around, the rich, woody earth was green with 
the dark equaw-vine and bright with its red berry; and 



128 THE 8UTHEB LANDS. ^ 

green moss, and grey moss, and cup-moss, and slender 
ferns, made a marvellous miniature forest around the fairy 
spring in the heart of the great forest. The path rather 
widened about this spot, and led up the hill quite distinctly 
in sight for some distance. Laura did not feel quite so 
lonely when she saw footprints along it, and remembered 
from Steady's story that the men had gone this way to 
their work on the new barn, which must be about half a 
mile from where she now was. She need not hurry, it 
could not be supper-time, or they would be returning. 
She bent over the litle forest at her feet, and with a hand- 
ful of squawberries was turning away, when she started 
back with a little, shriek. A bright-red lizard, some two 
inches long, redder and brighter than the berries, lay 
looking at her with his bead-like, black specks of eyes, 
human and horrible in their significance. It was such a 
shock, among the mute, simple children of the forest, to 
find such an eye as that; and while she hung fascinated 
and terrified above it, a snake wound silently through the 
dead leaves at her feet, and disappeared beneath the rock. 
She started up, chilled with fear, and dropping her berries, 
hurried out into the path. 

But, hark ! from over the hill, through the still evening 
air, at that moment there burst a stunning, deafening 
sound, booming through the forest, reverberating from hill 
to hill, heavier and more dreadful as it rolled away. And 
distant as it had seemed, Laura knew she heard a cry, a 
terrible, sharp cry, lost in faint echoes long before the 
deafening cannon-like report had died away, but i-inging in 
her ear with tenfold more appalling horror. What could 



^ 



THE SUTHEELANDS 129 

it mean ? What dreadful judgment had fallen to close 
this peaceful day ? Had some swift thundercloud mounted 
the heavens and burst upon the woods ? She looked fear- 
fully up, but through the leafy arch above her head the 
sky was clear and soft, still glowing with the splendor of 
the sunken sun ; and now, while she listened, all was silent, 
silent as death. She could not, dared not go away ; every 
step she put between her and this spot was so much longer 
wearying suspense, and her faint limbs refused to advance 
and meet the news, whatever it might be, that must come 
from over that doomed hill. She clasped her hands around 
a slender birch stem beside the path and tried to calm her- 
self and wait, while the stillness grew heavier and the light 
above grew paler. Day indeed was dying in the heart of 
the still forest ; would that her fear were dying, too ! 
. At last! Voices from over the hill, faint and distant, 
but gradually approaching, struck her ear, and soon, wind- 
ing down the path, she caught sight of the workmen 
coming. But not as workmen come from an honest, hearty 
day of labor, with home and supper near, and welcome of 
wife and child, and the night's rest before them ; sad and 
slow, with heavy, lowered voices, they defiled down the 

path, and on the shoulders of four . Ah ! It needed 

not to have seen that burden before for Laura to know 
what was stretched upon the rougli litter, and covered with 
its hasty pall of coarse white canvas, trailing nearly to the 
ground ; her horror-stnick eye had only to catch the out- 
line of the head, the arms crossed on the chest, the droop 
of the canvas about the pointed feet. 
Lawrence, walking slowly beside the bier, caught sight 

6* 



u 



130 THE BUTHEELAND8. 

of her, and starting forward, motioned the men to drop 
back, while taking her hand, he led her forward, say- 
ing: 

. "Don't be frightened, Laura. An accident has hap« 
pened to one of the workmen, over the hill, in blasting 
rocks for the foundation of the new barn." 
Warren wasn't there ?" she whispered. 
Oh no, he went home two hours ago. It is poor 
Eberley, Mark Eberley, who lives just at the edge of the 
wood here." 

" Oh ! Not poor little Steady's father !" cried Laura. 

" Yes," returned Lawrence, with a sigh, " poor little 
Steady's father. It's a dreadful thing." 

There was a long pause, while Laura and La>vTenco 
walked silently on and the men followed, slowly, at a little 
distance. 

" How did it happen ?" at last Laura asked, through her 

« 

tears. 

" The rock was drilled and ready an hour ago, and the 
match had been lighted, and the men all went across the 
lot and waited, but it did not fire the train of powder. It 
was growing late, and they were getting impatient to go . 
home, and at last Mark said he'd go across and see ; but 
just as he reached the rock and stooped down to look, the 
explosion came " 

And a shudder finished the story. 

" Poor little Steady ! And has she no relations ?" 

"None; she must come home to us. I'd rather any- 
thing than take her this bad news, poor little woman! 
Poor Mark hardly thought ^^^a morning, when he went 



THE 8UTHEBLANDB. 131 

over the hill, w'e*d be bringing him horse dead to his little 
daughter at sundown !'* 

" Was he a good man, Lawrence ?" 

"Yes, better than any of us, I'm afraid. A good, 
honest, strong-hearted man, and tried to do his duty all the 
way through. We'll wait a long while before we get 
another man at the farm that's half his worth. Poor 
Mark ! I've never seen reason to doubt he was a Christian 
in all the time since he first darkened our door, with his 
bundle strapped over his shoulder, and his motherless baby 
in his arms, seven years ago this coming Christmas." 

At this moment an opening in the trees showed the 
ruddy blaze of the firelight through the window of Mark's 
cabin, and involuntarily Laura and Lawrence stopped and 
looked with painful sympathy in each other's face. Law- 
rence pressed his hand for an instant before his eyes, and 
ejaculated : " I cannot tell her, I cannot." 

He motioned the men to halt, and walking to the edge 
of the rock, leaned against a tree, and looked down at the 
quiet little home with an actual groan. " Laura, would 
you mind breaking it to the child ? It might be better 
coming from a woman — but I ought not to put it on 

you." 

" Yes," said Laura, sadly. " I will go and tell her. No 
one can know better how to pity her." 

" Thank you," he said, almost inaudibly, and descending 
the ledge, he lifted her down after him. Once out of the 
woods it was still quite light, though the twilight was 
increasing every moment. They followed the little path 
worn by Mark's patient feet from the wood-pile at the side, 



132 THE SUTHSBLANDS. 

round to the low gate in front of the cabin. Little Stead- 
fast was standing in the door, but seeing the young lady 
approach and falter, she went down the path to meet her, 
and said : 

" I was afraid you had got lost. Is anything the matter?" 

For Laura's face was white, and her hands so trembling 
she could hardly raise the latchet of the gate; Steady 
helped her, saying : 

" Oh, how cold you are I Come into the house, won't 
you ? I've got a nice fire for father." And she glanced 
around toward the woods behind the house to see if he 
were yet in sight. 

Laura felt a pang when she saw the glance and remem- 
bered the burden on the shoulders of the four men just 
within the wbod. There was a bench at the foot of the 
pine tree by the gate, where Mark smoked his pipe on 
summer evenings ; sinking down on it, Laura drew the 
child close to her, and in a choking tone, said : 

" Steady, I know you say your prayers. Let me hear 
you say ' Our Father.' " 

The little girl, simply enough, knelt down by Laura's 
lap, and putting her hands together, with a reverent face 
and voice, repeated the Lord's Prayer. Laura put her 
arms around her, and kept her kneeling when she had 
ended it, and stooping over her, whispered : 

" I used to say that when I was a little girl ; my dear 
father used to hear me say it every night ; but he's dead 
now, and I have to say it by myself." 

"Oh, I'm sorry for you," said the chDd, lifting her 
serious face. 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 133 

" But, Steady," and Laura^s voice shook ; " I love that 
prayer, because, though it reminds me my father is gone 
out of the world, it tells me that the dear Lord is my 
Father, and loves me and will take care of me. And he 
will take care of my father that is dead, too, and will bring 
me into Heaven to meet him at the last, if I am good. 
Steady, I think so much about that time I It's the time 
all Christians will be happy." 

" I know," said Steady. " It's the Resurrection. Father 
told me all about it only Sunday night, and about mother, 
who was waiting these seven years for us in Paradise." 

" Should you be very unhappy, my little girl, if God 
called you to go to your mother, and be at rest in that 
holy place?" 

" Without father ?" 
" Yes, without him." 

" I don't know ; I shouldn't like to be without him, but 
then he says it's a great deal better there." 

" Oh I am • sure he thought it was a great deal better 
there. And if you heard, Steady, that he had gone there 
to be with your dear mother and wait for you, I am sure 
you would not murmur." 

*' But I don't want him to go," she said quickly. 

" But if it were God's will, my darling " 

" I — I don't know — I wish he'd come home ;" and she 
glanced uneasily toward the wood. 

" My darling, he never will come home," cried Laura, 
folding her arms about the little girl, and bursting into 
tears. " He is in that better home he told you of, with the 
saints and angels and your dear mother. I*don't know 



134 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

how to comfort you — ^I know your little heart is breaking — 
but God will comfort you, my darling — God knows how 
hard it is, and He is very sorry for you." 

" But — but — tell me how — he " — stammered the stunned 
child, before the great sob rising in her throat stopped her 
utterance. 

" They have been blasting rocks over the hill " 

The child's low groan showed she knew the worst at 
once. 

"If you will come home with me, I will tell you all 
to-night. Mr. Lawrence knows — he will tell you." 

"Yes, my little girl," he said, approaching her and 
stooping down to kiss her. "I "will tell you all. Oh, 
Steady, it makes me almost as unhappy as it does you. 
But I must not talk about it now ; you must come over to 
the farm w^ith me." 

Laura felt the shudder that went through the child^s 
frame, as lifting her head, and turning to Lawrence, she 
said huskily : 

" Let me see him, won't you ?" 

" No, pot now. Steady. It isn't best just now. I want 
you to come with us." 

After a moment's pause, she said, " I must cover up the 
fire, and take the kettle off first.'* 

And walking with a slow, heavy step up the path, she 
went into the house and closed the door. Laura leaned 
her face down against the trunk of the pine, and Lawrence 
walked restlessly up and down the path, w^atching glooinij^ 
the slow darkening of the little window, ^vhile the light 
flickered vplFainter and fainter, and then died altogether, 



IHE sutheblands. 135 

as the unsteady hatd of the child heaped the lately blazing 
fire with ashes. 

Ah I the light of that happy little home had gone out 
forever ; no wonder that many long minutes passed before 
poor little Steady, with her cloak and hood tied on, came 
out again. Laura could imagine well the pang that every 
care had cost the thoughtful child, taking off the steaming, 
singing kettle, putting away the unused plate and cup, 
extinguishing the cheery sparkle of the fire, leaving to 
cold, dark solitude the home she had never in her life left 
for a night before ; and no child could be so precociously 
painstaking and sober as Steady, without an accompanying 
development of intellect and heart. Whatever burst of 
grief, however, that sad parting with her home had 
occasioned, it had all subsided when she came out again, 
and latching carefully the door, went down the path. 
Laura took her hand in hers, and drawing her partly under 
her cloak, led her out of the gate as Lawrence held it open. 
Ho signed to the men in the wood to come down, and 
then walked on beside Laura and the little orphan, on 
their slow, sad walk toward what must now be home to 
both. 

Changings and partings and sorrows are the rule this 
side heaven, Laura thought, and perhaps, after all, it was 
best little Steady's trial should have come before the fully 
matured heart and intellect had grown up to their perfect 
capacity of suffering. For the future, the poor little girl 
had as yet no fears. She did not look further ahead than 
Avc arc told to look, and for which distance we hava 
strength promise^ us, but for no more. She was a child 



136 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

in faitli as well as a child in years, and so a child in suffer- 
ing, and her great sorrow came to her mercifully divided 
and lightened, as our sorrows would come to us, perhaps, 
if we would but take them as we are told to take them. 

What mortal strength can be sufficient for the weight of 
the great chain of discipline that goes through eveiy life, 
and binds it to the eternal shore beyond the waves of this 
troublesome world ? No mortal strength can ; its accumu- 
lated weight, only for an instant, would sink the stoutest 
struggler ; but, link by link, not looking impatiently 
beyond, but looking patiently down, humbly and faithfully 
accepting it as the only means of* safety, hard and rough 
and heavy as it may be, it can be borne, and it will bring 
us surely to the haven where we would be. But, greedy 
of our sorrow as of our pleasure, vehement and unreason- 
able, we drag a weight upon ourselves we have no warrant 
to suppose we shall have power to bear, and struggling, 
half crushed, beneath the selfishly and morbidly retained 
burden of yesterday, and the dreaded but yet unbestowed 
calamity of to-morrow, we question, in our intolerable 
distress, if God has not broken His promise that we shall 
not be tempted above what we are able to bear. No, 
verily ; but we have broken faith with Him. We have not 
believed that one day's evil was sufficient for it, but have 
pulled down upon it the evil of many ; and so, very likely, 
©ur punishment is greater than we can bear. 

Laura, bending over the newly orphaned child's even 
sleep that night, thought sorrowfully of her own want of 
Caith, when she was orphaned and exiled from home. How 
tiiucb unnecessary foreboding, indeed, {#ie had burdened 



THE STJTHEELANDS. 137 

herself with ; how many miseries she had anticipated that 
had never come ; how much she would have spared herself 
if she had, like little Steady, only taken up the loneliness 
and bereavement of the moment, and lain down to sleep, 
not knowing but that the night might end it, and the 
morning might find her trouble ended or her stren&cth 
increased. 



CHAPTER IX. 

BOtTND THE TAVERN FlUfi. 

''But when Death calls, and thou shalt cease 

To pace the gritted floor, 
And lavinp; down an unctuous lease 

Of life, shalt earn no more : 
No carved cross-bones, the types of Death, 

Shall show thee past to heaven ; 

But carved cross-pipes, and, underneath, 

A pint pot, neatly graven." 

Tennyson. 

The new bam over the hill went on to its completion 
with rapid strides, but a wonderful change in its destination 
had transpired. It was but a rough building, constructed 
of unhewn logs, and floored with the flat stone that was 
more plentiful even than logs in that mountain neighbor- 
hood; but rough as it was, it would never have slipped 
from Ralph Sutherland's grasping fingers, if his crafty 
brain had not dictated the- sacrifice from avaricious 
motives. Warren, he had found, could no longer be 
contented with his present life of inaction ; either he must 
consent to the formal beginning of a ministry he hated, in 
his neighborhood, or lose the links he now held between 
him and his brother's wealth, and it was not long befoi*e 
his resolution, gruff and against the grain as it had gone, 
was made known to Warren. If nothing but preaching 
the gospel would suit him, he shouldn't complain he had 

188 



I 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 139 

denied him a place to preach it in ; he was welcome to the 
new barn, if it would serve his tm*n, and being gut of 
earshot of the farm, he might preach as loud as Biothe? 
Pertinax himself, as long as he didn't do any private 
preaching in his hearing. The crops had not been as heavy 
as they had anticipated this year, and the barn wasn't really 
wanted, and if Lawrence chose to hurry up the men, it 
might be ready before cold weather. 

Lawrence had taken hold of the project with much zest ; 
Laura could think of nothing else. Mrs. Sutherland hardly 
dared believe her hopes were so near their consummation, 
and held her breath fbr fear they should be crushed at last, 
while a new light dawned in the young minister's eye, and 
a new hope filled his heart. October had but just begun, 
and Lawrence promised Warren might read the service for 
All Saints' Day in the new chapel. This chapel had given \i 
marvellously invigorated tone to the quiet life at the farm- 
house ; it was something to work for, to date from, to con- 
sult over. Not one member of the household, from Steady 
up, save the grim head of it, but felt the inspiring influence 
of the good work in hand, and the cheering and drawing 
together that united good work always effects. 

It was a sharp, cold October evening, and Ralph, shuf- 
fling off to bed some half hour earlier than his usual early 
period of retirement, left the family group in an unre- 
Mtrained and easy state of comfort. A great fire was roar- 
ing up the chimney, taking much heat and many sparks 
with it, but throwing out into the room enough warmth for 
the season, and a great glow of light. The heavy, low- 
browed room was cheerfuller than it had been for many a 



140 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

long year, and the people in it, too, were cheerfuller than 
they ^ver hoped to be, some of them. Mrs. Sutherland*^ 
wheel, at one end of the room, spun its quiet soothing song, 
while Nattee knelt beside her earnestly assisting hor. 
Laura, at one side of the fireplace, was bending over her 
embroidery-frame, lighted at her work by a lamp above her 
on the shelf. A use had been found for the beautiful crim- 
son vanity, and now she never shook the hourglass when 
she worked, and sometimes forgot to look at it. It was to 
cover the board of the reading-desk, the foot of which Law- 
rence was carving at that moment, seated on the opposite 
side of the tire, with his arms on his knees, and stooping 
down to get the benefit of its light, till the troublesome 
cur^s tumbled about his eyes and the blaze deepened the 
color of his bronzed cheeks to a dark red. 

'" I think you'd be puzzled, Warren," he cried at last, 
tossing the curls back, and lifting up his work, " to decide 
what school of architecture that belongs to. It looks like 
nothing, in nature or art, that I'm familiar with I" 

" Not quite so bad as that," said WaiTen, with a little 
laugh, looking up from the shaded lamp by which he was 
reading in the other comer of the room. "It's a little 
irregular as to model, I confess ; but really, original as the 
plan is, I think it's quite a success. At any rate, it will do 
vastly well till the Venerable Society vote us a replenish- 
ment of chancel furniture, and the organ Laura has set her 
heart upon." 

It was so pleasant to hear Warren laugh again, that 
Laura echoed it very quickly, and Lawrence said : 

" I'm afraid we shall be a venerable society on our own 



THE S U T H K R L A N.D 8 . 141 

account before that devoutly-to-be- wished consummation 
crowns our waiting." 

"That is very possible," Warren said; and Lawrence, 
stooping over his work again, finished the sentence foi 
him: 

" And by no means undesirable. I wouldn't give a rust 
for a chapel I had to thank a missionary society three thou- 
sand miles away for. We're not heathen ; let them send 
their charity where it is needed. If we can't swim on our 
own account, the sooner we sink the better, I say." 

" I think you'll find the ' own-account ' principle an 
unprofitable one in the matter of church, ray good fellow," 
^d Warren, resuming his book. '^ I know nowhere that it 
is more out of place ; that is, if the ' communion of saints ' 
means anything." 

" I never understood it to mean anything but a vague 
spiritual bond, that nobody thought much about or wag 
much influenced by," returned Lawrence, doggedly, hereti- 
cal principally for Laura's provocation. The young clergy- 
man possibly divined the motive, and dismissed the budding 
argument with — 

"I commend that article of the faith to your study, 
then." 

" Steady," said Laura, reprovingly, to that little girl, who, 
sitting on a bench on the floor, at the confines of the young 
lady's dress, was thumbing inattentively her nrimer, and 
gasing about her idly. " You will never learu to read, if 
you don't pay more attention. It's an hour since I gave 
you that lesson, you know." 

"Yes, Steady," cried Lawrence, "you'll never grow up 



142 THE SUTHEBLAI^JjS. 

to be a well-behaved young woman, if you don't learn to 
keep your eyes under cover of your eyelashes, and never to 
look up from your work, under any circumstances, and to 
count your stitches straight ahead, no matter what's going 
on, and never by any chance to say anything to anybody." 

Steady looked very much bewildered and very uncom- 
foitable, and bent her eyes on her book penitently ; wliile 
Laura, stooping over her shoulder, pointed out the lesson to 
her afresh, and rewarded the young Lawless' careless disre- 
spect with the silence it deserved. 

Now, a girl who can't be teased, and who won't retort — 
who will, in fact, do nothing but look infinitely pretty and 
grow very distant — is an extremely uncomfortable person 
to deal with. LaAvrence Avas unspeakably angry Avith liia 
cousin a dozen times a day, and vowed he'd never look at 
her again, or lose his temper about anything so cold and 
Bpiritless ; but a dozen times a day he saw something to 
make him doubt if she were cold to any one but him, or 
spiritless except upon principle and with design. Amia- 
bility and simplicity alone, he knew, could not make a per- 
fect woman ; there must be spirit kept down by amiability, 
and intellect feminized by simplicity of character, to make a 
peifect woman, whose sweetness will not pall, whose com- 
panionship will not weary, and whose beauty will not fade. 
And every day he watched her added to the conviction he 
rebelled against, that his cousin was maturing into such a 
woman. There was nothing of the doll about her, with all 
her prettindss ; there was a dignity in her movements that 
came from something deeper than natural grace of manner, 
a gentleness and yielding that did not argue weakness, a 



THE SUTHKRLAKD8. 143 

coldness and reserve that were not born of heartlessness 
or narrowness of soul. Lawrence would have th*ed of her 
in a week as he had tired successively of all the blooming 
inanities of the neighborhood, if she had been the halt- 
childish little coward he had tried to think her ; but sorely 
against his will, he began to find he could not tire of her — 
ehe never gave him a chance ; she froze him with her cold- 
ness, and maddened him with her loveliness, and stole dail} 
further from his grasp. 

And at last, when he found what stood in the way of hip 
success, when he discovered that there was not only a rival, 
but a favored rival, between him and the woman that he 
coveted, there had been a struggle of pride to renounce 
her, but not a victory. No ; like the determined, self- 
willed, self-reliant fellow he had always been, he resolved to 
win her, though an army of rivals filled the path ; he would 
hardly have chosen them to stand there, but he never was 
cowardly enough to wish them away : he comprehended his 
difficulties at a glance, but they never damped his courage. 
Laura should be his, clodhopperisra, cousinship, coldness, not- 
withstanding ; she should be made to love him even against 
her will. He was not afraid of her ; one dash of fear or 
hesitation would have ruined all ; but the night in the 
orchard -had melted the only unsound tenet in his adniira? 
tion. He never could have been her lover if he had 
retained it ; she was but a woman : while he was in the 
flesh, he was not capable of loving an angel. The only sort 
of worship that was consistent with his thorough manlinesgf 
he gave her ; he reverenced her for the purity and good* 
0688 that made her better than other women, and he loved 



144 THE 8UTHERLAND8. 

her passionately for the follies that showed she was yet but 
a woman. The refinement, the cultivation, the delicacy 
that at first had seemed to place such a gulf between them 
ne had spanned ; his strengtii, his self-reliance, placed him 
far beyond it : she was a perfect woman, but his heart told 
him the perfect woman finds her master in the thorough 
man. 

So while Warren Sutherland was trying to wear his , 
passion out by penance and by prayer, and cure himself of 
bis hopeless love by all the arguments his religion and his 
reason could afford, his braver cousin was going to work 
in a very different way, and was showing in his plan the 
superior wisdom that is vouchsafed to the children of this 
world. 

And, while his tone was careless and his manner cold, 
there was an occasional gleam in his eye that Laura conld 
not understand. To-night, as she bent her head again 
over her work and stole a glance at him from under hsr 
eyelashes, his eyes had just rested on her as she looked up. 
"I will possess her or will die," they said, while his 
mouth, half sneering, half smiling, wholly indifferent, 
belied their passionate protestation, and roused and fas- 
cinated her curiosity by the strange inconsistency they 
showed. But she would have been more puzzled and less 
pleased if she had seen the triumphant laugh that lighted 
them, as, a moment after, she bit her lip, and with a slight 
impatience began to pull out the stitches that had gono 
wrong while she had been wondering. One cannot think 
of two things at a time, if one is a perfect woman. 

*'Nattee," cried Lawrence, "shut the kitchen door. 



THE SUTHERLA.NDS. 14.5 

' Those noisy rascals out there disturb Miss Laura. She 
cannot think about her work." 

" Thank you,'* said Laura, very distantly, "but you need 
not shut the door for me. I like to hear them laugh. I 
have not thought of being disturbed." 

" No ? Well then, Nattee, you may leave it. Halloa, 
you Amen, what's the joke ? Come here, you rascal, and 
tell us." 

A smothered burst of merriment from the kitchen had 
preceded this, and at his master's summons Amen came 
over to the door from the hearth where he had been 
presiding, and peeped around the corner of the door with 
much affectation of humility and embarrassment, but with 
much real cunning in his eyes. 

"Well, what is it?" said Lawrence, laughing as he 
• looked at him. 

" Where's massa ?" he whispered, glancing in. 

" Gone to bed this half hour. Come, nobody'll scold 
you. What deviltry have you been about since supper ?" 

"Deviltry? Oh, Mass' Larry," ciied the young imp, 
deprecatingly, "I've been runnin' of arrants ever since 
dark. I've only jes' come in from Martinis." 

At this there was another chuckle from the kitchen, 
while Lawrence said — 

*' If you're so long about telling your story, I'll send you 
off to bed." 

At which threat Amen recovered himself enough to 
begin. 

It appeared that immediately after supper, Salome, 
finding herself out of yeast, had dispatched Amen to get 



146 THE SUTHEBLANDS.- 

Bome from a neighbor's, and that, contrary to all precedent, 
Amen had gone straight to the place to which he had been 
sent. Perhaps the little circumstance of the place being 
the village tavern, may have had somethmg to do with 
this unusual obedience, as it certainly did explain the 
fact of his being very tardy in coming away from it. 
The chilliness of the night had influenced similarly some 
dozen neighboring worthies, young and old, and the bar- 
room was so filled with their solemn and unceasing smoke, 
that Amen's eyes blinked and smarted for some nuLUtes 
after he had stowed himself comfortably away under the 
table, lying on his stomach, with his feet on the pile of 
wood in the corner, and his woolly head next the fire. 
He laughed silently as the men told their slow jokes, and 
•replenished their long pipes ; and engrossed by the 
festivity of the scene, never cast a look on the empty 
kettle beside him, nor a thought on the empty bread- 
trough waiting at home. The being where he had no 
business to be, was pleasure enough in itself to Amen, and 
when to this inspiring circumstance was added the comfort 
of having his head within two feet of the fire, at a tempe- 
rature of 92° Fahrenheit, and of inhaling the delicious 
fumes of the mugs of ale above him on the table, it 
is not strange that he forgot his " arrant," and gav« 
himself up to the temptations of the hour. 

He was of an appreciative and quick intellect, rather, 
it must be owned, in advance of the rest of the 
company in point of speed of thought, and while mine 
host lumbered heavily through some of his heaviest stories, 
or Caspar van Hansen "norrated" pompously, bettveen 



THE SUTHEBLAND8. 14:7 

pufis of smoke and sips of ale, Amen flew to the end of 
the story and back, before either had got half way 
through, and valued himself much on the feat he was 
capable of performing. The position he occupied 
demanded a silence very contrary to his taste, and when 
the conversation straggled into the channel into which il 
almost invariably straggled at the inn, it became such a 
self-denial to him to hold his tongue, that it almost 
d'jstroyed his pleasure. No one had reason to feel more 
strongly than he felt on the subject in hand, and it wa^ 
doubly cruel to him to hear them thumb it over with so 
little force. The manifold atrocities and impositions of 
the people of the adjacent States, their iniquities and 
extortions, their bare-faced cheating and their smooth- 
faced lying, roused the honest Dutchmen into a sombre* 
strain of eloquence. 

" Aye, aye," said Martin, mine host, sucking at his pipe, 
and helping his robust right leg over his robust left. " It*s 
risky pusiness, lettin' 'em get a vootin' on the Vlatts. 
The only ting's to geep 'em off, to durn our backs on 'em, 
and let 'em take der truck home again." 

And Martin's broad back, as Amen saw it, did look like 
a discouraging thing to have turned on one. There was a 
grumpy chorus of assent to the suggested suppression of 
the nutmeg trade, and waxing valiant Avith the com- 
fortable security of closed doors and distant foes, a solemn 
league and covenant was entered into by the assem 
bled Hollanders, never again in any way to encouraiafe 
or abet, trade Avith or protect, any Yankee, live or dead, 
of either friendly or hostile professions or designs Thej 



148 THE 8UTHERLANDS. 

bolstered up, with much eloquence, their tradilioual faith 
in the power of their Iligh Mightinesses', the States- 
General; in short, having nobody to oppose them, they 
talked themselves into the belief that they were an invin- 
cible and progressive nation, and that their opponents and 
rivals on the soil were far too feeble and insignificant a 
race to cause them much discomfort. 

" Dey're too mean to live," said Caspar, taking his pipe 
out of his mouth to say it, " and de best ting dey can do's 
te die." 

" Trust *em for that," cried a young man of wider views. 
*'They won't die, they're tough as leather. You never 
hear of one dying." 

" What becomes of 'em ?" asked another. 

Caspar shook his head. 

" I know," cried Amen, from under the table. " They 
salt each other away for pork every year or two— the old 
'uns that can't work. Massa never buys pork of 'em, he's 
too sharp." 

Martin moved uneasily on his bench at this suggestion, 
for he had made his supper off a sinewy ham he had been 
forced to take as compensation for the lodging of the last 
Yankee who had tabernacled among them, and passed his 
hand thoughtfully over the vast doublet beneath which it 
was sepulchred. 

" I trow not — ^I trow not," he murmured ; " it was lean, 
but it wasn't lean enough for that — ^not half lean enough 
for that." 

Then giving a scowl at Amen, who, turtle like, drew iu 
his black head at the sign, he got up, with tlie effort that it 



THE SUTHERLAND8. 149 

costs a man encumbered with three liund red pounds of mor 
tal coil to get up, and took a turn or two about the room, 
taking the beer-barrel in his way, and trying to allay the 
suspicion within by a long draught at it. " It's only vun oi 
old Ralph's lies to keep the men vrom eating their vill," he 
thought, trying to reassure himself, as he took another 
swig ; that was all very well, but it was a notorious fact, 
that ham had made Gretchen and the boys sick both times 
they had eaten of it, and, beer notwithstanding, had never 
set well in his own case. Old Martin's stomach was of a 
loyal and steady-going character, little given to rebellion, 
without the least tendency to squearaishness, and but for 
that unhappy and uncalled-for allusion of Amen's, would 
have submitted to a far worse and tougher ham than the 
one off which he had supped. He joined no further in the 
talking, but the sanded floor of the room bore tracks of his 
great feet as he crossed it uneasily ten or a dozen times, 
then murmuring indistinctly, it was " treatful hot," he made 
rather abruptly for the door. 

After the lapse of several minutes,' he returned somewhat 
hurriedly, looking a little pale about the gills, and wearing 
an expression of considerable alarm. "Dere's von of 'em," 
he said in a shaky voice, closing the door hastily after him ; 
" dere's von of 'em outside. Vatt — ^vatt's pest to pe dun. 
eh?" 

A sudden hush fell on the company ; the Dutch intellect 
is an un wieldly intellect, not so good on occasions of emer- 
gency as on many other occasions; no » one seemed ready 
with any advice, and time passed. 

" Vatt's pest to pe dun ?" murmured ^Jartin again, fum- 



150 THE SUTHEKLAND8. 

bling with the handle of the door. The men looked from 
one to another, and did not say what was best to be done ; 
did not even look as if they had a definite idea on any sub- 
ject. 

Amen rolled out from under the table and whispered, 
**Bolt him out — ^bolt him out" — and theil rolled back 
again. And Martin mechanically obeyed the suggestion ; 
It is so natural, in a moment of uncertainty, to do what any- 
body tells you briskly to do, even if he is an Amen. But 
he did not quite succeed in obeying the little African's 
direction, for the stranger, while Martin was mussing 
clumsily about the lock, put a scrawny shoulder to the door, 
and pryed it open, as it were, in the face of the stupefied 
landlord and his guests. 

The face that followed the shoulder was a very sharp and 
mtelligent one, and not a disagreeable one either in its way, 
but its way was very Yankee and very hard, very square 
about the mouth, and very inquisitive about the eyes, just 
ttie sort of face, in point of fact, to throw the honest land- 
lord into a cold perspiration. / 

*' Hay !" he stammered, retreating a step or two, but still 
holding to the door, although the stranger was by this time 
comfortably inside of it. "I — veil — vatt, vatt tu you 
vant ?" 

" Want ; why my good friend, I want to warm my hands 
a bit, and sit down by this fire o' yoii'rn, and get a bite 
o' supper, maybe, if there's any round," the newcomer said 
with astonishing sang-froid^ as, rubbuig his hands together, 
he walked over to the fire, nodding familiarly to the petri- 
fied smokers around the room, and slinging his pack down 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 151 

from his shoulder in the corner next the table. It was 
wonderful to watch the clever way in which he kept hia 
ground. After a while the astonishment and silence of 
the men began to thaw, and there were some scowls and 
growls bestowed upon him as lie drew up his chair in front 
of the fire, and stretched out his lean legs to the heat. 

" Pretty fire, that," he said, expanding his bony hands 
upon his knees ; " remarkable pretty fire. Takes Ulster 
County to grow hickory. Never saw a log blaze like that 
over our way.'* 

A pause, during which Caspar grunted and the rest of 
the party smoked. 

" Hickory like that," he continued, meditatively, " would 
fetch — well — lemme think — would fetch — twelve shillin' a 
cord, cut and drawed, any part o' Connecticut." 

" Ne-o," cried Caspar, thrown entirely off his guard, for 
he had acres upon acres of the finest hickory that ever nod- 
ded, two miles back from the creek, and flesh and blood 
could not stand unmoved the history of such prices as that. 
Two or three of the men who had less woodland said 
*' whew !" and those who had not any, sniffed contemptu- 
ously and did not say anything. 

" Fact," said the stranger, bringing his lips together with 
a smack, and making his unhandsome mouth a straight line 
during several seconds of impressive silence. " Fact ; I've 
paid that much hard money down for it myself, many's the 
time. An' with as many yoke of oxen as some of you big 
farmers roun' here have got, 'twouldn't be a bad specula- 
tion, to my notion, to draw a lot of it over 'cross the line, 
and peddle it among the folks Our way.'* 



152 THE SUTHERLAND8. 

" Peddlin' ish not our calliii'," growled the landlord from 
the further end of the room, where, astride of a half-barrel 
of beer, he was gradually recovering himself. 

" Might have a wuss, friend," said the Yankee, laughing 
all over his hard face. " You'd fine it a sight better'n en- 
tertainin' peddlers," no doubt he would have added if he 
had not been restrained by prudence. 

From timber he edged oh to garden-seeds, and meeting 
with less and less opposition at every step, he at last 
resolved upon pushing a bold move, and stooped down to 
open his pack, talking volubly all the time. But this was 
premature. A well-defined " Na, na," rose from the smok- 
ers ; so he covered his failure with the remark that he was 
looking for some cards he had, to show »em a trick he'd 
learned yesterday from an old French sergeant who was 
coming down the river on a raft. Now a trick with cards 
the Yankee knew would carry any bar-room instantly, 
pledged to no matter what hostility ; and many a night's 
lodging had this same " new trick" obtained for him. In- 
deed, the cards had grown grey in the service, grey and 
grimy too, and they almost shuffled themselves and slid into 
their places on his knee, so familiar were they with the rdle 
they had to play, and the fiction of the old French sergeant 
had long since ceased to raise a blush on the greasy faces of 
the royal family. The men slowly gathered in a circle round 
him, old Martin, even, plucked himself up from the beer- 
barrel, and approaching, looked over his shoulder with 
cautious wonder. The " new trick" was a success, and was 
rapidly followed by otlier tricks, to the full as wonderful 
and as original ; the audience were thoroughly excited and 



THE SDTHERLANDfl. 153 

warmed up, and at length a little mild betting grew out of 
the enthusiasm kindled. The Yankee was so unfortunate 
as to lose ; on two separate occasions he had to hand out 
a shiny shilling to his delighted bettee. 

But at last, as it seemed, driven to desperation by hia 
losses, he started up and exclaimed, Wall now, there was 
one more bet he was willin' to make ; he didn't care Avho 
took it up, he'd show they couldn't beat him every hand ; 
he was willin' to swallow the biggest man in the room for 
two pound ten. He had the money ready; let any man 
put it up, an' he'd show him. 

An -incredulous ha I ha ! greeted this ; but the thimble- 
rigging spirit was so a-flame, there was little difficulty in 
persuading Martin, as the biggest man present, to take up 
the bet, and in the enthusiasm of the moment, he went out 
into the lean-to, and from the chest under the bed, brought 
back an old stocking, and fi-om it counted out the money. 
The peddler, too, produced his from the bottom of his 
trowsers pocket, and Caspar van Hansen held the stakes. 

"Well," cried the men eagerly, as they watched the 
cadaverous Yankee's deliberate survey of the huge Dutch- 
man's solid front. " Well, why don't you do it ?" 

" Aye, vhy ton't you ?" muttered the old man, suddenly 
remembering, with a little sinking of the heart, the suspi- 
cious ham and Amen's abominable suggestion. 

" Why don't I, eh ?" he returned. " I didn't engage to 
gwallcr his clothes. He's got to strip, I'm a waitin'." 

" Come then, Martin," laughed the men, crowding round 
bim. " No backin' out. Come." 

*' Na, na," protested Martin, making a stout resistance. 



154 THE 8UTHERLANDB. 

" I'll none o' dis. I'll e'en take pack my moneys. Gif it 
to me, Caspar. I titn't say I'd strip." 

" Pooh, pooh ! ye're in for it. Ye're pound, or ye losh 
yor moneys," cried Caspar, fully bent on seeing all the fun. 

" Ye can't take back the money now," the others echoed. 

Martin, looking very miserable, glanced at the emptied 
stocking and offered no further resistance, as his zealous 
friends assisted him in getting rid of the major part of his 
clothing. Setting all pecuniary anxiety aside, he had a 
great deal to distress him : his personal dignity was much 
outraged; he began to feel the utmost uneasiness at the 
contemptible position in which he found himself, as steady- 
ing himself against the wall, he bai*ely kept himself from 
falling, while a brace of giggling lads drew, first one long 
blue hose and then another, from his ponderous limbs. 

'* There, there," said the peddler compassionately, " that's 
enough. I don't mind the underclothes. It's only the 
thick woollen things I can't stomach. Now, my man ; are 
ye ready ? Draw out the table, then, and git him up 
on it." 

But upon this, Martin sat plump down on the floor, and 
refused to budge. He wouldn't git up on the table for no 
man, not he. Then the stranger made a feint of taking the 
money from Caspar's hand, and the company all declared 
he was in the right of it if lie did; and at last, with a 
groan, Martin suffered himself to be helped up on his legs 
again and led over to the table, which, with aU the pomp 
and circumstance of war, the Yankee had drawn out into 
the middle of the room, and the strength of which he had 
tried repeatedly, by vaulting up on it, and shaking and 



THE 8UTHERLA.ND8. 165 

thumping upon it with impudent familiarity and afisurance. 
It is not probable that any person, not actually suffering 
capital punishment, ever endured worse pangs than this 
unhappy landlord did, as with infinite exertion he wajs 
hoisted upon the table and exhorted to stretch himself out 
at full length upon it. 

The Yankee, passing his lank fingers through his hair 
and pushing up his sleeves, then said impressively : " Now, 
gentlemen, I must ask ye to step back a-ways ; stand a 
little to the left of the body, and gi' me plenty o' room. 
Now, all ready ?" 

" The body " gasped faintly, " Ye'es," and shut his eyes. 
A silence fell ; curiosity held the breath even of Amen. 
For the space of several seconds, it is no figure of speech 
to say, the dropping of a pin would have been a startling 
and audible occurrence. 

Then the solemn opei-ator, after surveying him from ah 
points, halted at length at the foot of the table, stooped 
down and applied his capacious mouth to the great toe of 
his victim. It must have been a dainty mouthful ! but the 
New England taste was not proverbial for its delicacy at 
that period of our colonial history, and the peddler even 
eeemed to enter with relish on his undertaking. 

An instant after, there came a loud crack of the huge 
loe-joint, and contemporaneously with that event, came a 
vigorpus kick in the face of the i^eddler, which sent hun 
sprawling on his back, and a volley of oaths thundered 
from the lips of the enraged landlord, as he regained a 
sitting posture, and shook his fist at his fallen foe. 

" De sneakin', teivin' Yankee ! Catch him ! He's proko 



156 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

my pig toe-joint ! I'll murter him I I'll have him hung up 
py de hair ! I'll " 

" Why," said the Yankee, picking himself up and hitch- 
ing up his trowsers with unshaken assurance, "** what did ye 
want ? Ye didn't expect I'd swaller ye whole, did you ? I 
thought ye knowed I'd have to crack the bones I" 

But above the roar of laughter that this called forth, 
thundered the heavy artillery of tne landlord's impreca- 
tions ; he rolled down from his table in hot wrath, and 
made for his antagonist as fast as his maimed member 
would permit, and would no doubt have fallen upon him 
and done him mortal injury if the more peace-loving of the 
assembly had not restrained his violence and held him back 
by force. Seiidng which favorable moment, the Yankee, 
who was as prudent as he was clever, sidled over to his 
pack, and talking pacifically all the while, strapped it to his 
shoulder, and then held out his hand to Caspar for the 
money. 

" I've arned it, you know," he said very nasally, but very 
logically. " I've arned it, ef he won't let me go on an* 
finish up the job. I'm willin' an' waitin'. I call you gen- 
tlemen all to witness- ef I hevn't arned it lawful." 

There was a temporary silence, but nobody could say he 
had not earned it. He was willing to complete his part, 
but the landlord was not willing to go on with his / who 
could say he had not a right to the money? Nobody * 
could say it, and nobody did say it, and so, with many 
apologies to the company for leaving them so soon, he laid 
five very quiet but very irresistible fingers upon the leathern 
pouch in Caspar's half unwilling hand, and worming hia 



^ 



THE SUTHEELANDfl. 15 



way to the door, scraped a gracefiil good-night to his host, 
DOW foaming at the mouth with rage, and with an inward 
chuckle, resumed his travels, defrauded of the lodgings he 
had expected, but richer by two pounds eight shiUings, and 
by many a future laugh. 

" And what did you do meanwhile, Amen ?" said Larry, 
laughing. "I'll lay a wager you didn't keep your black 
fingers altogether out of the pie." 

Amen hung his head with a beautiful modesty and he- 
he'd in a minor key, while Dave called out : 

" Ask him what became of old Martin's clothes, Massa 
Larry I" 

" Well, what did, Amen ?" 

" He couldn't find 'em, Massa Larry .»' 

" WeU ?" 

But Amen was incapable of being straightforward on a 
question which involved any transaction of his own ; so, 
more by inference than admission, the rest of Martin's mis- 
fortunes came to light. It appeared that some ten minutes 
ofter the departure of the stranger, the fury of the land 
lord having in a measure expended itself, the ignominy of 
his demi-toilet suggested itself to his mind, and he began 
to look around for his clothes. 

" Vind me my toublet, zum o' ye," he said, hoarse w^ith 
swearing. " Ye was handy enough to get it off me." 

Smitten with this reproach, two or three of the loimgers 
turned to look for it ; but, alas ! it was nowhere to be seen. 
The same held true as regarded shoes, hose and breeches. 
There were many astonished and uncomfortable looks 
exchanged as this amazing piece of effrontery was disclosed, 



158 THE SUTHERLAND r. 

and it became evident how accomplished a villain they Lad 
had among them. 

jVIartin's wrath knew no bounds ; half naked as he was, 
he bolted out of doors, swearing vengeance and demanding 
a pursuit. But as he was disabled, for obvious reasons, 
from heading it himself, and as no one else in the com])auy 
showed the slightest intention of seconding him, he was at 
length obliged to retire to the stronghold of the lean-to, 
and to the great scandal of Gretchen, his wife, hide his 
defeat under the bed-clothes ; and the sharp tones of her 
scolding voice were the last the dispersing revellers heard 
as they took up their tardy march toward their respective 
Gretchens. 

All this Amen acknowledged to have seen, flattening hig 
nose against the window-pane outside. 

*' Well, Amen, do you think the Yankee took 'em ?" 

*' He, he, massa, I guess not." 

*' Where are they, then ?" 

"I guess they'll fine 'em when they come to bake. I 
shouldn't wonder ef they foun' 'em in the oven." 

" Oh, you limb !" said Lawrence, laughing, as he waved 
him off. " Get out of my sight — to bed with you this 
minute." 

" Aye," cried Salome, waddling across the kitchen to get 
the men their candles. " Limb indeed. I wonder anybody 
kin feel safe wid him in the house. Whatever he was made 
fur, I can't think, except it was to show folks the devil 
didn't confine himself to Yankees. He'll blow us up or 
drownd us, 'fore we know it, if we don't look out.'' 

"Lookin' out won't do much good," muttered Rube, 



THE SUTHEELAND8. 159 

• 

ciiimpiiig off toward bed. "That imp with the ScriptuT 
name'll be the death of us all, you mark my words." 

And thoroughly impressed with his manifest destiny, and 
very much delighted with its importance, Amen, grinning 
and chuckling, followed in the rear of the retreating pha- 
lanx, and left nis Letters to the enjoyment of his wickedness 
and his wit. 

Note. — ^Tbis story is related and believed in the neighborhood of itg 
occurrence. The old tavern is still standing, and mine host of to-day 
takes great pleasure in showing to the curious visitor the ancient table 
6n which his predecessor strct^^^ed his unwilling length on that memo* 
rable CTeniag. 



CHAPTER X. 



IN A CELLAR. 



•" Ah, bitter chill it was I 



The owl for all his feathers, was a-cold ; 

The hare limped trembling through the frozen graas 

And silent was the flock in woolly fold." 

Keats. 

It was always a cosy hour round the sitting-room fire, 
that last one before bed-time, after the men had all gone to 
their loft, and Salome had put her bread in the " last posi- 
tion " before the smoldering fire and left it to its fate, and 
Nattee had closed the shutters and bolted the doors and 
put a fresh log on the andirons, and dropped her last cour- 
tesy (with the chance of nobody seeing it), and taken her 
lonely way up to her lonely little room. It was very cosy 
for those who stayed and drew up round the fire, but it 
was very chilly and forlorn for Steady and for Nattee, who 
didn't stay. On this particular evening, it had been harder 
than ever to go away from the light and warmth of the 
sittiDg-room ; Steady was a little sleepy, and bobbed her 
courtesy and trudged very imcomplainingly up to bed, but 
Nattee was so wide awake, and so interested in the talking, 
now could .she go ? 

After exhausting every possible excuse for staying in the 
room, and being hurried off at last by a half-impatient 
" Nattee, don't be all night tinkering at those shutters !'» 

IflO 



THE SUTHEKLANDB. 161 

from Larry, she hastily picked up her candle and retreated. 
Not very far, however. She sat down for a minute to 
recover breath on the top step of the cellar stairs, and 
glancing back into the room, found the position com- 
manded so fine a view of the circle at the fire, she forgot 
to go any further, and sat leaning forward on her elbows, 
resting her chin on her hands, and gazing into the room, 
while the draucjht from the cellar made terrible work with 
her flickering candle, and dashed the melting tallow into 
many fantastic molds. 

How handsome Larry looked as he bent over his mother, 
and forcibly disengaging her hands from her work, led her 
over to the great chair he had drawn up for her by the 
fire. 

" No more of that tiresome wheel to-night I" he ex- 
claimed, throwing himself down on the settle and leaning 
on his elbow. " Come, Warren, give the Fathers a holiday. 
Come over to the fire." 

And Warren, with a smile, shut his book, extinguished 
his little study lamp and came over to the fire. This was 
only an intermission in his night's toil; more hours tban 
any one in the house guessed, that faithful little lamp 
burned under his weary eyes, but for this hour, the last of 
their evening, and almost the beginning of his, he was 
always glad to lay the books aside. But how pale and 
thin he looked, as, leaning back in his chair, he fixed his 
eyes dreamily on the fire. The delicacy of his face had 
grown almost startling ; not effeminate, not unmanly, not 
even sickly and wan, but spiritualized and refined from 
sense, and infinitely sad. Thought and study and discipline 



162 THE SUTHEBLAI^Db. 

had added their subtle beauty to his eyes ; there wan 
immortal youth in the fairness of his features, but keentiess 
of intellect and strength of soul in the indescribable repose 
and thoughtfulness of both. 

"Laura, my child," said Mrs. Sutherland, in the half- 
anxious, trembling tone that was becoming almost queru- 
lous, " why will you strain your eyes over that work at 
night? Do put it wp^ I beg. Let Lawrence move your 
frame back to its place." 

Laura submissively obeyed, which Lawrence also did, 
but with a little show of indolence and want of alacrity, 
and pushed a chair up for her by the fire. She altered its 
position till she could lean on Warren's and a short silence 
ensued, broken by Larry's sudden laugh, " That villainous 
Amen ! Laura, there's a home mission for you without 
further search." 

" That would be no charity in the end," said Lsara, " for 
it would be taking your work away." 

" Mine ? not a bit of it. I wash my han8s of all the 
farm. After the first November I make over all my share 
of the moral responsibility of it to Warren." 

" That sort of stock is not tranwferable, I think you will 
find, my friend. I should be very happy to relieve you, 
but I am afraid it is not in my power, nor in the power of 
any mortal man, for the matter of that." 

*' Nonsense !" cried Lawrence. " Do you mean to say a 
man has no way of ridding himself of the moral responsi- 
bility of his slaves as long as he owns them ? Not that I 
really think of shifting them upon you, but I might, if we 
were both agreed." 



THE S0THEELAND8. 163 

** J doubt it. There are few duties that can be shifted, 
Do you think a mother is ever rid of the responsibility 
of her ehildrt3n ? Do you think a pastor is ever rid of the 
responsibility of his people ? Never, believe me, whatever 
deputies they may put between them and their duties. 
People cannot do alms by proxy, cannot practise self- 
denial by proxy, any more than they can go to church, 
say their prayers and praise God by proxy. It is a per- 
sonal matter, it cannot be shifted; with our own hands, 
in our own hearts we have to work it 9ut. And half 
of us spend half our lives in trying to get rid of what 
we never can be rid till God decrees. I do not mean 
to preach, Larry; I know you're not in earnest, but 
you'll let me tell you this : not I, nor the whole bench of 
bishops, could ease you of the responsibiUty of governing 
or misgoverning those whom God has set you over. We 
might save their souls, you would peril yours. The gov- 
ernment of households rests with those whom God has 
placed over^them, and personally the heads of families are 
responsible. It is the disregard of this, the indifference of 
men to these directions of Providence in the government 
of the world that puts things so awry. If men would only 
attend to their personal duties and responsibilities, and let 
all philanthropy alone that went outside of the circle of 
those duties and responsibilities, the anarchy, the insubor- 
dination, the irreligion would be cut down by half." 

*' The Pertinaxes would be out of fuel in that case," said 
Laura. 

" And a happy day it would be for the world," muttered 
Lawrence. '• That fanatical old incendiary has set afire all 



164 THE BUTHKBLANDB. 

that is combustible in the neighborhood. If our slaves 
hadn't been ' seasoned timber,' they'd have been all in a 
flame by this time. Such stirring doctrine as he gave 
'em last Sunday, by all accounts, would have put any* 
ordinary intellects in a ferment ; but, happily (with a 
laugh), Rube's and Dave's are no ordinary intellects. 
They know on which side their bread is buttered, and 
that implies an extraordinary degree of intelligence, I am 
sure." 

" It is rather an unsafe tenure to hold them by, though, 
my friend." 

"Yes, a little depression in the butter market, and 
they're off, whizz — like partridges, I suppose. But a mas- 
ter's care must be, I take it, to keep the butter supply 
generous and invariable, and then the chances are in hip 
favor that his slaves stick by him and serve him well." 

" Did it never strike you it would be a safer plan to 
teach the slave his duty, besides giving him his bread 
and butter ? To give him some simple, reasonable instruc- 
tions about the relation that exists between you and him 
and what is expected of you both ? To explain to him 
the position he is in, and tell him who put him in that 
position ? For men are not born by chance, showered 
about the world at random ; a slave who is born in that 
condition, has been made a slave by God, and has as clear 
a line of duty to follow as his master, or his fellow-laborer, 
born a froeman.- Teach him that duty, instruct his con- 
science with the light of Christianity, give him some 
tveapons, no matter how rough and simple, as long as they 
are weapons of truth, to defend himself against such mis- 



THE BUTHEBLANDS. 165 

taken and unhappy preachers, and you need not feai 
them. They will be preaching insubordination, rebelliOL 
against the authority that holds him in the lowest grade 
of life, but his wiser heart will be preaching patience : 
endurance, at tlie least, of the condition in which it has 
pleased God to place him, arid faith that God will make 
it all right for him, if not in this world, in the next. Such 
homely maxims will sound very flat and tame, no doubt, 
flfter the ranting eloquence of abolition preachers, but they 
are God's truth, and it is safe to believe, that can live and 
do its work without the help of fine words from any mortal 
preacher." 

" Well, Warren, may you succeed in getting some of that 
truth into their minds! Heaven forgive me, I'm afraid 
they've heard little enough of it yet ! I am afraid their 
self-interest has been the only principle that has been 
appealed to. They, as well as we, will have cause to bless 
your uoming, if you can put things on a better foundation 
than they are on now. I have always felt that somehow it 
was all wrong, but I haven't given the subject thought 
enough." 

" And, Lawrence, I know no subject that, for us, requires 
more thought. You were bom the master of slaves ; 1 
have assumed to be the teacher of slaves ; so, both of us 
this question touches nearly. And it is such a sad question, 
in its best phase, to every thinking man, that we shall not 
be tempted to treat it lightly, I am sure." 

" liightly !" repeated Laura, with a shudder. 

" But the world is so full of great evils and great sad 
nesses that we must not cry out, This cannot bo borne— 



166 THE SUTHERLANDB. 

this is the worst evil that has ever been! Who knowa 
whether this outward bondage that they wear is any more 
cruel than the plague of many a free man's secret heart ? 
Every man who has suffered knows what discipline means ; 
he knows no soul can be saved without it. What if this 
discipline is for the saving of their souls ? And there might 
be harder ways, God knows ! As long, then, as slavei-y 
exists by God's permission, we must take it as one of the 
sadnesses that He has placed before us in our fallen world, 
to remind us of our impotence and our ignorance. We 
cannot see why it should be permitted ; we cannot see why 
plague, and famine, and war should be permitted — why 
thousands upon thousands of unready souls should be swept 
to death, without a moment's grace — why millions upon 
millions of heathen souls should live and die in ignorance 
worse than death ; we cannot always see the reasonableness 
of the Divine Reasoner, nor the justice of the Immutable 
Judge, but we can submit, we can acknowledge our own 
ignorance, and believe in His wisdom. And what remains 
for us is to keep our own hands pure from the blood of all 
men, our own hearts attentive to the duties that lie around 
us. We are not responsible for the world, we are responsible 
solely for ourselves." 

"Old Pertinax would tell you, you take a narrow 
view." 

" Then he would give me the key-note of his own errors : 
he takes too broad a view. He overlooks his own personal 
duties, in looking out so far upon th^ duty of the world. 
He preaches what the pity of his own kind heart suggests, 
instead of what the higher wisdom of God's pity commands 



THK SUTHBRLANDS. 167 

The Bible he professes to live by commands submission to 
the ordinances of man for the Lord's sake — obedience to 
those who have the rule — contentment with our lot in life, 
whatever it may be ; and he, in his blind zeal, and indis- 
criminating pity, preaches to his hearers of their rights as 
men, their wrongs as slaves — holds up rebellion as a virtue, 
resistance as a duty. Is this man preaching out of the 
Bible, or out of his own heart ? I can tell him there is 
nothing harder than to shut up one's own yearning human 
heart, and turn to the stern rules of God's eternal Law. I 
pity the enslaved, to the full, as much as he pities them ; 
but I should hold myself guilty of a deadly sin, were I to 
let my pity for them warp the message that God sends to 
them by me, in ever such a slight degree. And I have still 
to find in that same Law the warrant that he finds to tell 
their owners that they sin in holding as their own the 
inheritance of their fathers. The man that would extend 
this evil, that would seize and bend under this sad bondage^ 
fresh and helpless victims, would be so vile and hard a man, 
no message, though "one rose from the dead to deliver it in 
his ears, would reach his heart. But the man who, if his 
conscience so allows him, chooses to retain and faithfully 
discharge the heavy duty that is owing to his slaves, cannot 
receive my censure. He must, though (forgive me, Larry '^ 
he must have my pity." 

" Save it, my dear parson, save it for those who need it 
more," cried Larry, with aft imeasy laugh, as he got up and 
walked across the room and back, his short rdle of serious- 
ness quite played out. " I wouldn't trust you with the offer 
of a brace of likely hands to work the perspective glebe, 



168 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

nor the gift of pretty Nattee, even, to keep the Pargonage 
in ordei !" 

" Indeed !" cried Laura, warmly, " you might trust him, 
without the smallest danger to your property — ^he would 
never touch it " 

"Ha!" said Lawrence, stopping short in his walk, and 
looking down at her intently. " Tou, yourself, would never 
own or keep a slave — you are resolved, then ?" ' 

" Never *' began Laura, with unusual warmth ; but 

Warren put his hand upon her mouth. 

" ' Sweetest my sister,' none of that. Vows should 
never be born of excitement and sudden feeling. Make 
your resolutions coolly and dispassionately; there will be 
more chance of having some warmth and vitality left to 
keep them, if you have not expended all on the making." 

" Tou are not so cold as you profess, though," Laura 
said, looking down, much humbled, and paying the penalty 
of her unwonted fervor with unwonted blushes. "You 
know you would not own a slave ; you know you do not 
blame my feeling so about it." 

" I don't blame you, but I don't applaud you, my dear 
Laura, for I know your enthusiasm comes all of feeling, and 
not at all of reflection. , Tou take a very feminine, imrea- 
soning view of the case, and judge, as women generally 
judge, in the most unreliable, yet the most natural, and 
perhaps the most subtly true manner." 

" Make that clear, if you please, my dear brother," 

*' He can't make it clear to you, if your instinct don't 
catch it at once," cried Lawrence. " A woman can't reason 
—a woman cau't be convinced. If you can make her feel a 



THE faUTHEBLANDS. 169 

thing, you can convey it to her ; if you have to present it to 
her reason, you have a hopeless task before you. I'd sooner 
teach Amen the alphabet, any day." 

"Aunt Andria, let me get a screen for you, the fire 
burns your face;" and Laura moved across the room, 
quietly and gracefully, yet with a chilling queenliness, and 
in her voice, low and musical as it was, there rang the 
shivering of a myriad slender icicles ; and between her cold 
eyes and her cousin's, when at length they met, there was a 
frost-work of disdain that the moment had created, but 
which he could not melt, fairy-like and fragile as it 
seemed. 

Impatient of the subject that had caused all this trouble, 
yet longing to provoke another flash of spirit from her, 
Lawrence launched into another and a nearer source oi' 
difference between them, to wit, the glorious Revolution, 
and their Orange Highnesses of blessed memory. But he 
had frozen the pretty wrath he longed to listen to, perhaps 
forever — who could tell? Women were such wayward, 
unaccountable creations, and this one was the most way- 
ward and unaccountable of all. Not one word, good or 
bad, did she speak again ; not one look, gracious or ungra- 
cious, did he get for all his ingenious impudence and well- 
affected heresies. With her pretty white hands lying idly 
in her lap, she sat quietly gazing into the fire, not a vestige 
of emotion of any kind marring the admirable repose of 
her face. She neither looked dreamy, nor absent, nor angry 
— she looked nothing. Warren's pithy reasoning, Law- 
rence's clever sneering, failed to wake the faintest change 
of feature ; they might as well have bandied jokes across 



170 THE 8QTHEBLANDB. 

the white shoulders of the Venus of the Tribune, for any 
effect apparent on the statue. 

It was not the fire alone that had burned Mrs. Suther- 
land's face. She was uneasy and perplexed at Larry's 
boldness and self-will, and though she could not enter into 
any of the arguments that had arisen, she could feel the 
right and wrong of them most deeply, and had felt them 
many silent years. And she saw, too, that Laura was 
angry, worse than angry, down to the very depths of her 
woman's heart. What did it mean, this unreasonable pre- 
judice of Lariy's, generally so generous and good-hearted ? 
She longed to break off his provoking controversy with 
Warren, and, in the very first pause which occurred, she 
said: 

" I am sure, Warren, you and Larry have forgotten the 
cider you were counting on so last week. Tou haven't so 
much as tasted it. I've a mind to go down to the cellar 
and get you a pitcher full ; and Laura will get that plate 
of cake from the side-board. Won't you, dear ?" 

Laura got the plate of cake from the side-board, and then 
quietly to king the pitcher and candle from her aunt, insisted 
unanswerably on going down for the cider. Gentle Mrs. 
Sutherland yielded to everybody, so it was not wonderfu] 
she yielded to Laura, but she watched her rather anxiously 
as, burdened with the candle and the pitcher, and a plato 
for some apples, she reached the door. 

"Lawrence, my son," she said, uneasily, for the young 
men were again engrossed in talking, " can't you help your 
cousin ? She will have more things to bring up than she 
can carry." 



THE SUTHEBLANDS 171 

** I don't need any help, Aunt Andria," Laura protested. 

" Oh, I beg your pardon — of course," Lawrence said, and 
following her, he took the candle and pitcher from her 
hand. He went down first, holding the candle high to 
light the young lady's descent, and, when he reached the 
bottom, turned and offered her his hand. But she could 
not be made to see it ; her eyes were downcast, and all her 
mind seemed bent on the matter of saving her white dress 
from contact with the rough staircase down which she wag 
obliged to pass. Lawrence bit his lip as he turned away. 
Here was a contest hardly worth his trying ; yet he was 
resolved, before she went up those stairs again, he would 
be master of that hand, if but for an instant, and look intG 
her eyes, if but to reiterate the story of his indifference and 
contempt. 

^ Which barrel does my mother mean ?" he asked, set- 
ting down the candle on the head of one, and turning to 
his cousin, who was standing in the middle of the cellar. 

" I think she intended to have that used first," the young 
lady returned, indicating, with a very slight gesture, a bar- 
rel in the opposite corner. 

"There's no difference in them," said Lawrence, per- 
versely, stooping down and examining the coopering. " I 
saw them headed up myself; they are precisely alike. This 
one will do just as well ;" and he proceeded to remove the 
plug. 

Now any one who has ever gone down into the cellar 
after dark on an errand of this kind, knows that it is no 
easy task for one pair of hands to hold the candle where it 
will light anytbhig but the beams or the bare ground, and 



172 THE BUTHERLANDS. 

the pitcher where it won't spill the cider, and the plug so 
that it can be replaced at the critical moment. One pair 
of hands is manifestly insufficient, and Lawrence meant it 
should appear so. When the candle was on the barrel 
liead, for all purposes of illumination it might as well have 
been in the attic, and when he set it on the ground, it 
flickered, and sputtered, and did not throw a ray of light 
upon the barrel, or upon anything but the ground and the 
half raised skirt of Laura's white dress, and the piquant 
little foot below it, that tapped the ground in absence or 
impatience. 

" Be kind enough to hold the candle for me,. Laura, will 
you ?" he said very matter-of-factly, handing her the candle, 

" You must excuse me," she answered, in the same tone, 
not approaching and not offering to take it. 

"No, upon my word I can't excuse you," he said, 
between his teeth, as he looked down at her. " Why won*t 
you take it, pray ?" 

" Sir !" 

And Lawrence got the glance he wanted; but such a 
glittering look, such a subtle, chilling hauteur as informed 
that delicate and speaking face. He had time for a full 
gaze into the eyes he had been so long trying to meet ; but 
Bucb freezing eyes ! And then she moved away as a young 
queen would. She seemed to think the path would clear 
before her of itself, and that it did not matter who was 
oetween her and the stairs, there was no one of temerity 
enough to stand where she chose to pass. 

"No! One word, my pretty cousin,*' said Lawrence, 
placing himself before the entrance. 



THE SUTHERLAKDB. 173 

But at that moment there came a crash, so near, so snd* 
den, even strong-nerved Larry gave a start, and with the 
Btart the treacherous candle, meeting some new gust of 
wind, expired abruptly, leaving them in utter darkness and 
unutterable astonishment. That -it might be something 
worse than astonishment on his companion's part, however, 
Lawrence guessed from the quick gasp that caught his ear, 
and starting forward, he exclaimed: 

"Don't be frightened, Laura; it's nothing. Give mo 
your hand ; here are the stairs." 

And grasping the cold hand that neither resisted nor 
yielded, he led her to the stairs, realizing, through all the 
perplexity and surprise of his position, the triumph he had 
promised to himself But before they reached the stairs, the 
outstretched hand, with which he was groping through the 
thick. darkness of the cellar-way, struck something human — 
warm, smooth, breathing flesh. Holding Laura back 
peremptorily, and suppressing the exclamation that rose to 
his lips, he laid a firm grasp upon the stealthy intruder, and 
called in a stentorian voice : 

" Warren ! bring us a light, will you ?" 

The cellar was vfnder the unused half of the house ; the 
cellar door was a tolerably heavy one, and the haU was not 
a narrow one, added to which, the sitting-room door had 
fallen, or been pushed shut since they had left it, all of 
which presented but a slim chance of success for even 
Larry's lusty lungs. He called again with tremendous 
strength, but not a movement in the hall above indicated 
that his voice had penetrated to the sitting-room. 

Hese was a situation never matched for awkwardness, 



174 THE SUTHEBLANDB. 

he thought, as he listened vainly for an answer to his call| 
supporting Laura with one hand, and keeping down hia 
unknown enemy with the other. Of what sex, age, or 
condition that enemy might be, he could not form any 
satisfactory conjecture. That it was human he was sure, 
and almost inhumanly strong he was equally and uncom- 
fortably sure. It was a throat he grasped, or one hand 
would never have sufficed to hold slich muscle in check for 
the space of half a minute ; and except that all effort was 
for release, and none for attack, he should have doubted 
his power of sustaining the struggle till help came. The 
necessity of keeping Laura in ignorance of the presence of 
a third and hostile party, increased rather than decreased 
as time passed. She was trembling all over, he felt dis- 
tinctly through the cold hand by which he suppt)rted her, 
and he listened rather apprehensively to the vain attempts 
she made to command voice enough to answer his careless 
questions. It was by no means an easy thing to put care- 
less questions in a natural voice, with such an unremitting 
strain upon one's nerves and muscle going on ; but Larry 
managed to do it, and to keep his companion in a blissful 
ignorance of the little circumstance, the *least suspicion of 
which would have sent her off in a fainting fit. 

" There's no use in stumbling up those stairs without a 
light," he said, qmte nonchalantly. "Strange we can't 
make 'em hear. Warren ! What a night it is ! Hark I 
do you hear the wind blowing ? Could it have been that 
Rube didn't fasten up the shutters well, and that they were 
what blew down. Stand back a little, Laura, you are just 
iu the draught from the window. I say, Worreu ! *ring 



TOE SUTHEELANDS. 175 

a light, will you? Ah I" with a sudden relief in his voice, 
" there he comes, we shall soon see our way out of this.'* 

In an instant after the first sound above had apprisea 
him his voice had reached the fireside, the cellar door 
burst open, and Warren, carrying the large lamp from the 
tabic, desconded three steps hastily, followed by Mrs, 
Sutherland, and then both stood still, transfixed with 
wonder at the scene before them. The place was flooded 
with light, to the remotest corner, and no item, from the 
extinguished candle lying on the ground, to the overturned 
barrel and shelves beside the stairs, escaped the amazed, 
and speechless spectators. But the group, of which these 
things were the surroundings ! Larry, holding back his cou- 
sin, pale and fainting, with one hand, while with the other, 
he held a grasp on the throat of Nattee, crouching at his feet. 

" Lawrence I Have you lost your senses ?" exclaimed 
Warren, when he could speak for wonder. 

" Nattee, by Heavens !" exclaimed Lawi'ence, ia a tone 
of thunder, starting back and flinging her from him. 
" What does this mean ? Speak — quick — speak, or I'U 
make you. What were you doing here — what does this 
mean ?" 

" Let me go, oh, let me go !" she prayed, for he had laid, 
his hand again upon her shoulder as he spoke, and held her 
back ; " let me go. I'll never come near you again — I'll 
never trouble you any more. I didn't mean to do anything 
wrong — ^I'm — oh 1 I'm so miserable !" and covering her 
face with her hands, she burst into tears. 

" You shall not escape with that," he muttered. Then, 
in answer to Warren's reiterated question, what does it all 



176 THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 

mean ? he exclaimed angrily : *' Mean ! why it means just 
this, us far as I can tell you. That girl there, skulking 
hidden about the cellar, eaves-dropping, or pilfering, or 
both, upset a pile of lumber in the corner, and nearly 
frightened Laura to death with the noise, and in the melea 
I dropped the candle, and we were left in total darkness. 
I started to grope my way and lead Laura up the stairs, 
and stumbled over something at the foot of 'em ; and you 
may well believe, a human something isn't a pleasant 
thing to stumble over in the dark. I didn't want Laura 
to go off in a faint on my hands, and she was so precious 
near it all the time, I didn't dare to let go her hand for a 
moment, so I had to manage my friend with my left, and 
she struggled like a tiger, I can tell you, and I had 
concluded you had all grown as deaf as posts, for I shouted 
till I was hoarse. Go up, Laura; I think we've had 
enough of the cellar for to-night." 

" Poor Nattee has, at least, I think," said Warren, sotto 
vocey as he led the way up into the hall. 

" Yes, and poor Laura, and poor Lawrence," muttered 
the latter impatiently, as he strode into the sitting-room, 
" Mother ! send that girl up to bed. I'll settle my account 
with her to-morrow." 

"You are unreasonable, Lawrence," murmured his 
mother, following anxiously with her eyes the girl's 
retreat. " No one ever dreamed of accusing Natteo of 
eaves-dropping or pilfering before. I cannot beheve it of 

her," 

" I am no more anxious? to believe it than you are," he 
returned, going to the fire. " But I am puzzled to give 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 177 

nuy other explanation to her appearance in the cellar, when 
Hhe was supposed to have gone to bed an hour before." 

" There are a good many puzzling things in this worlds; 
I«arry, my friend," said Warren, as he sat down to his 
books. " ' Judge not by the appearance, but judge righte- 
ous judgment,' which is all one with saying, appearances 
are snares." 

" Yes. But we of the laity have to depend a Httle on 
them," Larry retorted, thoroughly out of temper. " We 
haven't your light, you know, we can't see into people's 
hearts." 

" You miss some very pretty views, then," said Warren, 
with a slight laugh. " Where's Laura ?" 

" Gone after Nattee, I think," Mrs. Sutherland said, with 
an apprehensive glance toward Lawrence. 

" Nattee, Nattee — ^let me in, won't you ?" Laura whis- 
pered at the door of Nattee'^ little room in the attic. No 
answer ; but the absence of bolts and bars was in Laura's 
fevor, and she softly lifted the latch and entered. The 
window had not been shut, and a strong current of air was 
rushing in from the cold night; so Laura closed it, and 
then went over and sat down on the foot of the low 
trundle-bed, where Nattee lay sobbing. As Nattee would 
do nothing but sob, and would neither look up nor answer 
any question, Laura sat still for a few minutes, and looked 
about the room. It was an odd corner of the attic, parti 
tioned off, and roughly plastered, with great beams overhead, 
and a narrow window, with a deep stone ledge. Scanty and 
simple as the furniture of the room was, it all looked as if 
it all belonged to pretty, neat, qiuck-handed Nattee's room. 

8* 



178 THE STJTHEBLAND8. 

''One could tell Aunt Andria had brought ner up,' 
thought Laura, looking at the coarse, but white and well 
made bed. "Poor Natteel I'm afraid she will find it 
has been mistaken kindness, if she survives her tender 
hearted mistress !'♦ 

" Nattee, look up, and tell me what you are crying for 
jT'm not angry with you. I do not believe you were 
meaning to do wrong, and neither does your mistress. Look 
up and tell me if you were." 

" I cannot tell you. 1 don't care what anybody thinks. 
I wish I were dead ! I'm so miserable !" 

" Nattee, Nattee I that does not sound like you. I am 
sure you are sorry if you have done wrong, and there is 
nothing else we need be sorry about, you know." 

It would have been a stauncher obstinacy than poor 
Nattee's yielding nature ever sustained her in, that could 
have withstood the magic * of Laura's sympathy and 
kindness. She told her at last all her misfortunes, and 
the causes of them : how hard it had been to come up to 
bed, and how she had loitered on the cellar stairs, till their 
sudden approach had thrown her into a great flutter of 
alarm. They had been almost upon her, before she realized 
her danger, and no retreat was left her but the cellar, 
down into which, without a second's pause, she had 
bounded, blowing out her candle as she went, and crouch- 
ing breathless behind some barrels under the stairs. An 
incautious movement, as they approached her, had thrown 
the barrels down ; and all the rest Laura knew before, and 
how sharply the poor girl had paid for her loitering and 
love of listening. 



THE SUTnEBLANDS. 179 

" "Well N"attee," said Laura, as she rose to go, " it's all 
over, and you did not mean to do wrong, I am sure. I 
will explain all about it to my aunt." 

" I'm not afraid of Aer," murmured Nattee. 

" Mr. Lawrence then ? 1 will make it aU right with him. 
You need not be afraid. Good night." 

If Laura thought she had healed the wound in poor 
Nattee's heart, it was only because she knew nothing at all 
about it, and had not seen any farther into its troubled, 
dark recesses than most people ever see into their neigh, 
bors' hearts, or know of their neighbors' deepest, sharpest; 
most enduring pangs. 



CHAPTER XI. 

BLACK, BBOWN ASI> FAIB. 

« 

* Nothing so true as what you once let fall, 
• Most women have no characters at all,* 
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, 
And best distinguished by black, brown and fair.*' 

POPJE. 

Making it all right with Mr. Lawrence was a thing 
easier in the promise than in the performance. Mr. Law- 
rence evidently had not the slightest design of rendering 
the matter of the explanation an easy one. At breakfast, 
he was just as curt as was consistent with good-breeding, 
and possibly a little curter, and left the table before any 
other member of the family, and was absent all the morn- 
ing. At dinner, he was a suspicion less brief, but more 
indifferent and unapproachable even than in the morning , 
and Laura, in a miserable, contrite frame of mind, watched 
him striding down toward the creek, with a gun over his 
shoulder, and Kelpie at his heels. She had not kept her 
promise to poor Nattee — she was as foolish a coward as 
Nattee was herself; all this while Lawrence was doing the 
girl injustice m his heart, an injustice which she had power 
to remove by half a dozen words ; and every glance at her- 
^nhappy face added to her remorse. It was too late now, 
though ; she must wait till he came back from shooting, 

A patient afternoon, with Steady at her feet, stumbling 



THE StJTHEELANDS. 181 

through her spelling-lesson, Nattee at her side, learning 
with less readiness than usual some new stitch her mistress 
fancied, and her own embroidery progressing slowly under 
her weary eyes ; and then at four o'clock, Laura got up 
from her work, and bidding Steady put her book away and 
get her cloak and hood, prepared to take the last of the 
fest declining sunshine. Steady was an admirable walking 
companion, and was to Laura what Kelpie was to Law- 
rence, with the additional advantage of answering in 
English when she was spoken to. But only then ; and 
hour after hour she followed Laura through the woods or 
across the fields, or along the windings of the creek, as 
silent and as faithful as her master's dog. Laura told her 
stories when they were in the house, and taught her faith- 
fully all day long ; and sometimes when they sat down to 
rest under the bridge or on the rocks, she told her about 
the mosses and the grasses at their feet, and described the 
wonders of the woods at home ; but with these exceptions, 
she rarely had to talk to Steady, and it was an instance of 
the child's good sense and premature intelligence that she 
never interrupted, by word or gesture, the thoughtful 
silence of her companion, or made herself in any way a 
burden or a responsibility. If Laura loitered, she loitered 
just a step behind ; if Laura hurried at a break-neck pace, 
she followed at a pace to match, breathless but uncom- 
plaining. 

" Steady, shall we go the High Rocks this afternoon ?" 
Laura asked, as they went out of the gate. 

" Yes, ma'am," Steady answered, and tlie programme 
was settled, and not a word more was spoken for a milfti 



182 THM SUTHEELANDS. 

Very rare and well timed words tbey must be that hais 
monize with those rare and lovely afternoons in autumn ; if 
one has a soul, that's the time to let it breathe, to let it 
listen to itself and Nature. Companions are all very well 
in their way ; speech is a noble and a genial gift ; but on a 
Btill, clear October afternoon, under the vast, blue, silent 
sky, with the quiet fields at one's feet, and among the 
unwhispering trees, the faint pulse of the year's completed 
life beating slowly, calmly out — surely repose is the thought 
of Nature, silence is the soul's best sanctity. 

The path to the High Rocks was rather a devious one, 
after they left the lane. Steady had been pilot on the 
occasion of their first walk there, and being very much 
more at home in the fields than in the highway, and being 
economical and thrifty even in her recreations, she had 
advised and pursued the " cross lots " policy. It was a 
little shorter to be sure, and infinitely pleasanter, but most 
people would have gone by the highway. Laura, having 
ceased to mind fences and begun to dread people, eschewed 
proximity to the road upon principle, and loved beyond 
expression the feel of the soft; yielding earth beneath her 
feet, and the crisp, dry crushing of the close-mowed grass 
lots that they crossed. And where the creek was on the 
line of march, and could possibly be followed, it was double 
pleasure to keep close to its edges, whatever it led through, 
and watch the pictures of the clouds sailing slowly over it, 
and the reeds and grasses drooping into it. Through the 
Flats, the creek wound still and deep and unruffled, expand- 
ing, just below the High Rocks, into a miniature lake, then 
taking a last farewell to placidity and repose, and with 



• THE StJTHEELANDS* 183 

strength gathered from the interval of peace, leaping 
swiftly over one obstructing ledge after another, and huiTy- 
ing downward, with narrowed channel but stronger 
current, till it approached the river. 

The High Rocks that rose precipitately from the little 
lake, were crowned with a primeval forest of pine, great 
old, majestic trees, that had gazed for centuries at the 
verdant Flats and the smooth lake and the sudden tumult of 
the waterfall, and had watched generations of wild flowera 
bloom and fade about their feet, and had sheltered whole 
dynasties of singing birds in their evergreen branches, and 
for which dead and dying things they breathed an undying 
requiem. And Laura, feeling 

" So young, so strong, so sure of God," 

SO full of life iu soul and body, loved to come here when the 
day was dying, when the year was dying, and listen to the 
slow mass they chanted for the thousand dead days and 
dead years they had seen fade into the past. Youth alone 
finds fascination in the gloom of Nature ; when the decay 
has begun within, the signs ^of decaying life around are 
cruel prophets to the soul. The falling of -the leaves, the 
coming of winter, the earliest snow, that strike a chill 
to the heart of age, send a new glow of vigor through the 
pulses of youth. They touch no chord of fear within, and 
lead to aspirations vague and undefined, but free from 
littleness and gloom. 

Once among the pines, Laura stopped for the first time 
since they had left the farm, and Steady stopped too ; 
standing back from the precipice her mistresfs overlooked, 



184 THE SUTHE^LAUDS. 

panting stealthily, and gazing straight before her. Steady 
always looked straight before her ; it was the rarest thing 
in the world to see her peering about and giving a side- 
glance or a back- glance or any sort of a glance that was not 
ftdl, direct, simple and honest. It was impossible to 
associate playfulness or coquetry with those great brown 
eyes, at once sad and innocent, childish and earnest, with a 
shade of unconscious, troubled perplexity in their depths, 
that haunted one uncomfortably. " She ought to play with 
other children more," thought Laura, as her glance fell 
upon her little attendant. 

" Steady, why don't you run down into the ravine, and 
look at the waterfall ? You may play on the rocks below 
the fall for half an hour ; I shall not be ready to go before 
that." 

"Yes, ma'am," said the little girl, and docilely went away, 
but with so steady and unenthusiastic a gait, that I.aura 
almost laughed at the idea of having sent her off to play. 
"No doubt, as she had been sent to do that, she would 
obediently play; but what odd j)laying it would be. Laura 
almost longed to follow her and see it. 

She had been gone twenty minutes, perhaps, and Laura 
had paced up and down the smooth ledge of rock, and 
watched the fading of the sunset out of the sky, and 
the faint gathering of the twilight, when the silence was 
broken by voices subdued by no reverence for the quiet 
hour and solemn grove. How clear and careless they were, 
too, and after the first moment of surprise, how familiar 
one at least was. The talkers soon emerged from the 
ravine that led up fi*om the waterfall, Larry, with his ffun 



THE SUTHEELAND8. 185 

over his shoulder, and as Laura instantly suimised, Cicily van 
Hausen, Caspar's youngest, prettiest daughter by his side. 
Cicily bid fair to eclipse her two elder sisters, good- 
looking as they were, one being of the " large, languishing 
and lazy " school, but with no capital besides her pink 
cheeks and white teeth, and pink cheeks and white teeth 
were at a discount in that Dutch neighborhood ; and the 
other, well-looking enough in her way, was too thrifty and 
energetic to be a breaker of hearts. It remained for Cicily, 
the third and last, to upset all her sisters' plans, to throw 
her steady-going, simple-minded father and mother into 
endless perplexities and amazements, and to rule the entire 
family with a rod of iron. Her hair was as black as it 
ought to have been flaxen, and her eyes, dark, wicked, 
coquettish, were totally out of place among her blue-orbed 
kith and kin. Her features were not regular, and her skin 
was dark ; but that was neither here nor there ; she was 
pretty, and nobody thought of denying it. Her figure, 
also, though she was tall and slight, had in itself no par. 
ticular merit, but she unquestionably made the best of it, 
carrying it haughtily and well. In this first flush of girl- 
hood, she was almost beautiful ; but speculative fancy 
darted ahead, and wondered at her ugliness when the red 
should be faded from the olive, and the roundness should 
bo shrunken into thinness, and the badness of the soul 
should look out from the dark eyes, unveiled of their 
coquetry and mirth, and the vindictive mouth should have 
forgotten to wreathe itself with smiles and hide its selfish- 
ness and cunning. ' She was but just sixteen, just emerging, 
from awkward adolescence, and Lawrence had but recently 



186 THE BUTHEBLANDS. 

begun to notice her and acknowledge her claims to admi- 
ration. Even the slight admiration of such a coveted 
youth, however, had already brought its accompaniment 
of envy and ill-will, and Cicily was not backward in using 
all honest endeavors to foster both the envy and the admi- 
ration. It is very possible she may have fancied herself in 
love with her admirer, but that was nothing to the pur- 
pose ; be was by far the most desirable match in the coun- 
try, and if she had " hated him with the hate of hell," she 
would have conducted the case very much as she conducted 
it now. 

Even unsuspicious Mrs. Sutherland, seeing with a 
mother's keen, apprehensive quickness, the aim of her 
clever young neighbor, grew uneasy whenever Lawrence's 
evenings were abridged at the fireside, and dreaded the 
snares and quicksands under Caspar van Hansen's friendly 
roof, even more than the toils and temptations of tho 
tavern. She had hinted enough of her fears to Laura to 
make that young lady perfectly certain whose saucy laugh 
it was she heard mixing in such noisy, clashing, merry 
music with her cousin's as they came up the ravine. 

" That horrid Van Hansen," flashed through her mind, 
and her attitude as at that moment they suddenly came 
upon her, had much of the wild grace and impotent defi- 
ance of a startled fawn. She wore her long grey cloak 
drooping down to her feet, the hood half fallen from her 
face, which had not a tinge of color in it, the golden shade 
of her hair had gone with the sunshine ; she looked as if 
fihe were made of twilight and autumn evening sky, not a 
color or hue of earth about her 



THE StJTHEELANDS. 18? 

What a contrast to the vivid young creation at LaiTy'a 
side! The scarlet cloak about her shoulders seemed tc 
have concentrated the vermilion of the autumn foliage, and 
retained its biilliance in the face of the declining daylight ; 
brown, red, flashing white and glancing black, mixed in 
rich-toned picture that the loose hood encircled. 
. " Laura ! You here I" exclaimed Larry, in a tone of 
surprise, starting back as they came upon her, then recol- 
lecting himself, he said : " Cicily, you know my cousin, 
don't you ?" 

" Oh yes," cried Cicily, quite nonchalantly. " We've 
seen each other before, haven't we ?" 

"I have had the honor of being presented to Miss van 
Hansen," Laura said, courtesying slightly, while the 
younger, nowise abashed, sprang up upon the ledge beside 
her, refusing, with confident coquetry, Larry's offer of 
assistance, and exclaiming : 

" Why, ain't you afraid of being out so late alone ? I 
thought I was the only one who didn't mind these lonesome 
woods." 

" Oh, as to that, Laura out-Hausens Van Hansen," said 
Larry, with an easy laugh, leaning against a tree and rest- 
ing his arms upon his gun. " She don't mind solitude and 
darkness ; she's only vulnerable on the question of ani- 
mated nature." 

" I am not alone," Laura said, quietly, looking at Cicily 
and not at Larry. 

"Why, who? Your brother?" And Cicily glanced 
around with interest, for she longed unutterably to test the 
hardness of the young minister's heart. 



188 THE 8UTHERLANDS. 

** No ; I am waiting for Steady to come up from the falls.'* 

" What, that tiresome little sober-sides ? A deal of pro« 
tection she must be, indeed I" exclaimed Cicily, with her 
noisy, pretty, sixteen-y laugh. 

" I like her very much as a companion," returned Laura, 
coldly. 

"Yes, upon my word, they're marvellously suited to 
each other," cried Larry. " I've often wondered, Laura, 
what you would have done if Fate hadn't bestowed that 
little maid upon you. Poor Nattee has a tongue, and 
sometimes a faint will of her own ; she never could have 
served you acceptably, besides, she is a slave ; but this 
demure, dumb, docile little wench presents none of those 
objections, and suits you like your shadow. Like mistress, 
like maid. Every pretty woman ought to have a maid 
that fits her, that's like her, that's becoming to her, just as 
she ought to have a gown and a hat that are. Cicily, 
Nattee would just fit you ; I think I'll have to give her. to 
you." 

" Do," cried Cicily, with dancing eyes ; " I promise you 
I'd make her good for something if you did ! Wouldn't 
I break her in !" 

" I don't doubt you would," laughed Lawrence. " The 
girl's in a fair way of being spoiled where she is ; what 
with Laura's theoretical commiseration and my mother's 
practical compassion, there will be soon nothing worth 
giving away left in her. K it wern't for my father's cor- 
rective influence, she would have been intolerable long 
ago, I fancy. She wants a firm, strict hand over her. She 
can't bear indulgence." 



THE SUTHKBLAND8. 189 

'^Ifow I wish you were in earnest," Cicily said, who, for 
a person of sixteen, had a marvellously developed acquisi- 
tiveness of disposition, and who, moreover, hated work. 
*' I wish you meant what you said. If you'd only hire ua 
K'attee low for three or four years, say, I know I could 
coax, mother into taking her. It would be the best thing 
you could do with her; everybody says she's learning 
nothing, and that you don't get half the work out of her 
you could. You talk to mother about it to-night, see what 
she says. Besides," said the girl, with an injured look 
at her small hands, " it would be a mercy to get some of 
the work off me. Nobody knows how much mother puts 
upon me.'* 

" Poor little oppressed !" cried Lawrence, with mock 
pity, but with an admiring glance at the small hands. 

" Oh, you always laugh at me !" And Cicily turned her 
head away with a pout that looked much prettier on her 
crimson lips than it does on paper. 

*' Laugh at you ! You'll see how much laughing there 
is about me ; you'll see if I am not in earnest. Why, I'll 
prove to your mother that she's a Goth and a Vandal if 
she makes you do anything but braid your hair ; I'll make 
your father sit in sackcloth and ashes for every batch of 
bread he's ever made you put your pretty hands in " 

Cicily pouted again, but this time with a lurking glim- 
mer of dimples. " I don't know who you mean by Goths 
and Vandals, but I don't believe they're half as crogs as 
mother is. I think you might talk to her about it, I 
think you'll be a Goth and a — what's the other ? if jow 
don't." 



190 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

" You shall not have to accuse me of Vandalism, though 
Nattee may, perhaps. Cicily, you'll have mercy on the 
wench, if you do take her." 

Cicily looked spiritedly indignant at this, and appealed to 
Laura to know if she did not think he was too impertinent 
for anything. 

" Am I impertinent ? Say, Laura ; you ought to know." 

A handsomer, more impudent varlet certainly nevei 
lived than Lawrence looked at that moment, as shaking 
back the brown curls from his forehead, and leaning idly 
forward on his gun, he glanced into his cousin's face, for 
the first time since Cicily and he had been talking. Now, 
if Laura had been human, she could not have helped resent- 
ing every other word he had said, and being justly angry at 
the total indifference to her presence that the two vivacious 
talkers had shown ; but she was not human, it was evident, 
for her face was as pale and shadowy and quiet as before, 
and her voice was shadowy and quiet too, but not a whit 
colder than before, nor in any way different from her ordi 
nary voice : 

" I have not had Miss van Hansen's opportunities of 
judging ; she knows you better probably than I do." 

Cicily, half angry at the delicate sarcasm, and half pleased 
at the implied progress she had made toward the acquisi- 
tion of the desired Lawrence, protested against the injus- 
tice of supposing she knew anything about him, except that 
he was the hatefullest tease in the world, and laughed at 
her all the while he talked to her. Laura waited politely 
for her to finish her veiy young and very missish protesta- 
tion, and then, with a slight bow that might equally well 



THE StJTHEELANDS. 191 

sene for assent or dissent, she stepped down from the rock 
where she stood, and begged they would excuse her, it waa 
time she called Steady. 

" Yes, high time," said Larry, carelessly glancing at the 
sky. *' You'd better make haste home. It is too late for 
you. to be out alone." 

" Well, then, good night, Miss Sutherland," cried Cicily ; 
" I hope Steady will take good care of you." 

And Lawrence followed her into the path that led over 
toward Caspar's farai, while Laura, hurrying down into the 
ravine, called Steady in a voice not quite so uncolored as it 
had been in the presence of the two who had just left her. 
*' Yes, ma'am," said Steady from the depths of the ravine, 
and the young lady stood still to wait for her. What a 
pleasure her face would have been to her cousin just then, 
if he had been there to see. How delightfully feminine and 
human he would have found the quick passion that over- 
spread it ; how he would have gloated over the impatience 
of her foot upon the rock, the tightening of her hand 
against her stomacher. She was angry, the pretty, impas- 
sive thing, as angry as heart could wish ; Lawrence had not 
the satisfaction of loiowing it, but she was. Cicily van 
Hansen he could drive into a passion any hour he pleased ; 
but her anger was no more like this than a wild September 
gale is like a still, deep December snow, shrouding earth, 
hiding heaven, choking all life and warmth and hope with 
ts dumb and muffled pow^r. 

What a walk home that was tor Steady ! It was so dark 
before they left the woods, Laura took her hand to keep her 
close to her, and she held it so tight, and walked so fast, 



192 THE StJTHKRLAUDS. 

the little girl was breathless and scared at the darkness 
which she supposed had scared her silent protector. Mrs. 
Sutherland was looking out for them anxiously at the door, 
and kissed Laura with a look of relief, and said she must 
not stay out so late again, particularly when the creek was 
BO high as it was now, and drew her to the light and said 
she looked pale, and in the same breath inquired if she had 
seen anything of Lawrence. 

** Yes," said Laura, flushing suddenly, " I saw him in the 
woods half an hour ago." 

" Did he come home with you ?" Ralph asked suddenly 
from his comer. 

" No," said Laura, trying in vain to regain herself; " he 
went with Cicily." 

Oaths were less startling in Ralph Sutherland's mouth 
than in most other persons, owing to their frequent occur- 
rence and great familiarity there ; but Laura never had be 
come fully acclimated ; she shrunk away JR'om her uncle's 
brutal profanity that evening with a feeling of horror, not 
quite, perhaps, as acute as that she experienced on the first 
day she listened to it, but with a sensation if possible more 
wretched and depressing. The Van Hansen family, to its 
remotest branches, incurred his evil wishes, and Cicily, as a 
brazen fool, came in for the largest share of his maledictions. 
The storm had scarcely subsided, and the family were just 
settled at the supper table, when Lawrence entered, look- 
ing handsomer than ever, after his quick walk in the cold 
air, and bringing in with him a rush of freshness and vigor 
and spirit, that Laura had failed to derive from hoi walk, or 
Warren from his books. He kept the talk so exol'i* 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 193 

sively where he wanted it, that even the old man was baf 
fled in his attempts to renew the recent philippic, and was 
forced to growl menacingly, and turn his back upon the 
table, without having injured anybody's comfort fm'ther 
than his presence inevitably injured it. 

Lawrence was in noticeably fine spirits ; he talked so well 
that even his father listened, and even Warren was roused , 
to repartee. His fresh, crisp, short sentences had quite a 
vigor of their own ; Warren could crush them into frag- 
ments by the subtlety of his thought and the strength of his 
reasoning, but still the apparent victory rested with the more 
extravagant, prononce talker, who never acknowledged de- 
feat or the possibility of it, and always kept a laugh ready 
to cover a retreat with. That night he fairly cleared the 
board, both of opponents and edibles. Warren laughed 
and left him at last, after every one else had moved away 
from the table, and said he saw Lawrence had to walk a 
dozen miles and gorge himself at supper before he could do 
Justice to an argument ; if he had lived a century later, he 
would have thrown in a hit about muscular Christianity. 

After Warren had gone to his room, and Nattee had 
removed the supper, Ralph shambled out into the kitchen 
to examine the curing of some hams, and called his wife to 
follow him. Laura, who had left the supper . table at an 
early date, had taken her book and seated herself beside the 
fire, and Lawrence, with sumptuous sang-froid^ leaned 
against the mantel-piece and gazed into the flames. Laura 
knew without looking up when the last one left the room ; 
what could be more hateful than to be left alone with him ? 
wliat would she not have given to have been on the other 



194: THE 8UTHEKLANDS. 

Bide of the hall door ? Unconscious Lawrence, however, 
did not seem to notice or to mind it in the least ; changed 
his attitude carelessly several times, but did not leave the 
-fire. In a few minutes Nattee came into the room, and 
crossed over to put something on the sideboard, and then 
went out, but with such a wretched, shrinking, apprehen- 
•eive glance toward Lawrence as she passed him, that Lau- 
ra's heart smote her. Now was the time to speak to Law- 
rence ; she was breaking her promise ; it was dastardly, 
mean ; she could not believe it was herself. Such strong 
silent piide as hers, however, bends hard, and it was several 
minutes before she had it under enough to rise and approach 
ner cousin. 

"Lawrence," she said, "I want to speak to you a mo- 
ment, if you please." 

Lawrence turned in some surprise, and said, lookmg at 
her steadily and inquiringly : 

" You want to speak to me ? Certainly ; is there any- 
thing I can do for you ?" 

" No ; nothing you can do for me," she returned, so 
quickly that it would have seemed almost like throwing his 
words back in his face, if so well-bred a person could have 
been suspected of so rude an action. " I only want to tell 
what I promised Nattee to tell you. It is not my affair at 
all ; I only speak of it to you to keep my promise." 

" Ah !" said Lawrence, looking down at her critically. 

An excellent reason for speaking, I must admit." 

" And, of course, I do not wish to bias yon in your judg- 
ment of her." 

"Of course not." 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 195 

** She is yerj sorry she was so unfortunate as to vex you 
last night, and wants me to tell you how it happened— 
and '» 

" I am listening." 

" She says she did not mean to hide away — she had no 
dea of listening — she — she " 

« WeU ?'» 

" It was very foolish of her, but she was so afraid you 
would be angry because she had not gone to bed, she ran 
down into the cellar to — ^to " 

" To hide ; precisely what you just said she declared she 
did not mean to d(% Excuse me, Laura, but you have 
undertaken a case you're not quite equal to. A little stifi 
lying is all that would have got Nattee out of the scrape, 
and if you couldn't have gone that length for her, you 
should have let it alone — you should have told her to put 
her cause into somebody else's hands." 

" I own I should have warned her she had not much to 
hope for from her judge." 

" Nothing, i' faith, if the office of judge involves the 
administration of justice." 

"The righteous administration of it involves more 
humanity and disinterestedness, to be sure, than I had a 
right to look for." * 

" Ha ! my fair Portia, you bave outstripped the march 
of the case — you have begun to taunc before the time. You 
should have exhausted all the persuasives to mercy before 
you began with the invectives. Depend upon it, you are 
bunghng sadly. Shylock begins to doubt whether you are 
A second Danlei." 



196 THB SUTHEBLANDS. 

"You seem to have misapprehended me. I did not 

begin this conversation for the pleasure of it; I cannot 

attempt a contest of wit with you. I only wanted to make 

known to you, as shortly as possible, Nattee's excuses and 

egrets." 

" You must do me the justice to say I have been listening 
attentively for them. It's not my fault if I have failed to 
get at them.'* 

" I have told you, or would have told you if I had been 
allowed, that Nattee is very sorry to have caused you 
vexation, and desires notliing so much as forgiveness." 

*' Very naturally." ^ 

"You may look at it as you please, but there is nothing 
in the fact of her being in the cellar last night that cannot 
be explained." 

** Ah 1 — explain it then, will you ?" 

" She loitered a little after the others went up to bed." 

" A little ? Yes, an hour and a quarter, perhaps." 

"I know that was not right, of course." 

" A little irregular, it must be confessed." 

*' But she has always been allowed a great deal of liberty 
about that." 

" About what has she not been allowed a great deal of 
liberty, I Should like to ask ?" 

" And when she heard you coming into the hall " 

" I don't like to inteiTupt you, but I didn't understand 
what you said she had been doing in the hall during the 
hour and a quarter she spent there bofore she heard mo 
coming." 

" I didn't ask her — ^I don't know what she was doing," 



THE SUTHEBLAND8. 197 

" Possibly listening ?" 

" And, in a foolish fear of being discovered, she hurriecl 
down into the cellar." 

"To listen, pei-haps, a little longer? But I interrupt 
you ; pray continue." 

"I have nothing to continue about; there is nothing 
more for me to tell you, only that she is sorry." 

" I think you told me that when you began." 

" And I will tell you it again, hoping you can appreciate 
the state of mind." 

*' It is a state of mind we're all apt to be familiar with, I 
admit ; but somehow its familiarity doesn't seem to have 
much bearing on the case in hand." 

" Except that it might incline a generous mind to pity." 

" Ah 1 Portia again. But all history and tradition go to 
show the Shylocks have not generous minds, and are not 
capable of pity. So waiving the quality of mercy alto- 
gether, you'll do better to appeal to the selfishner s inherent 
in me. How, pray, shall I gain by restoring tl is girl to 
favor ? "What probable advantage will it be to i le to pass 
over her abominable impertinence and deceit ?" 

" I don't ask you to restore her to favor — ^I doM't expect 
you to forgive her ; I am not so wild. I only ast you not 
to be cruel iu her punishment — ^not to vent your anger 
wantonly upon her." 

Lawrence's face, up to this date, had been only & very 
cool and provoking fece, but a dark flush of genuine wrath 
ftt these words overspread it, and he bent a very flashing 
pair of eyes upon his cousin's. 

Tour eloquence has been exerted, thep," he said 



44 



198 THE BUfHEKLANDS. 

between his teeth, " only to save your favorite from the 
lash ? You have been trying to shield her from my brutal 
rage ? You have thought, perhaps, she was in danger of 
some punishment that made your blood run cold to think 
of; that some scene was brewing to turn you sick with 
horror, like that in which my father bore the part I was to 
act in this. Yours is a noble, appreciative nature, my 
cousin ! You humble me with the beauty and greatness 
of your soul ! It's well worth a man's while to make you 
understand him I — worth any pains to make you know him 
for a man and not a brute I Let me tell you in plain lan- 
guage — ^lot me disarm you of your fears. Nattee is quite 
safe, as safe as you are, from the effects of my resentment. 
She has spent her life in this house, and I think she will tell 
you, if she has not forgotten how to speak the truth, she has 
never seen me raise my hand to any menial in it. I did not 
realize you needed to be told of this. I could not estimate 
the narrowness and falseness of your education. Only y oa'* 
own words could have convinced me of it. My gracious 
cousin, know once for all, the paltry refinements of the 
home you are languishing for, have little to do with fosteiing 
true manliness of soul ; they oftener unmake than make the 
gentleman. It is possible for a man who has never touched 
the outmost skirts of what you look upon as civilization, to 
measure himself with the men within it, and to make them, 
and to make the world, acknowledge his equality. I excuse 
your misapprehension. You cannot understand me ; I am 
not written in your language ; we shall derive no pleasure 
from each other ; we have no cousinship of soul. Disabuse 
your mind of any fears that have disturbed it ; all who can 



TUB SUTHEBLANDS. 199 

claim womanhood and weakness are safe from my oppres- 
sion. Nattee has nothing to fear from me whatever. Yoii 
have nothing to fear from me beyond the necessity which 
obliges you daily to see me. You have pleaded your 
fevorite's cause to so good purpose, you have helped me to 
understand your own. Is there anything further I can 
explain or promise for your satisfaction ?" 

" No, nothing further," said Laura, in a low voice, as, 
very pale, she hurried from the room. 



CHAPTER Xn. 

YOK BAIN IS ON THE BOOF» 

** And the hooded clouds, like friars, 
Tell their beads in drops of rain. 
And paitter their doleful prayers ! 
But their prayers are all in v^n — 

All in vain." Lonqfelloit. 

•* Thbkb's something to help you through this rainy day, 
my wench," said Ralph, with unprecedented civility, throw- 
ing a package of letters on the table as he passed through 
the sitting-room to change his wet clothes. It had been a 
rainy day of the most unequivocal kind, a pelting, pouiing, 
pitiless storm, that no man but Ralph, and no beast but 
Dirck, had thought of braving. The farm hands had been 
lounging in the tarn in inglorious inactivity, endeavoring 
to fill up the vacuity of life with shelling corn, weaving 
baskets, mending nets ; but withal, it was neither work nor 
play, and the day had been a long one. 

In the house it was very different. To working woman- 
kind Nature brings no- holidays; storms without but 
redouble the work within ; heat, cold, feast days and fast 
days, the household drudge's weariness is but a question of 
degree; the same mean things to be done over and over 
and over again, the same tiresome trifles to be remembered, 
the same weary burden to be carried. The drudge or 

900 

/ 



1U£ SUTHEBLANDS. 201 

drudges of a household should always be as free from mind 
as possible. It has long been a question with intelligent 
persons, whether some useful domestic animal, answering 
to that name, in the melee that followed the debarkation 
fi-om the ark, did not stray away from its fellows, and be- 
come lost forever to humanity. There are indubitable traces 
of the existence of such an element in the well-being and 
long living of the antediluvian families ; and the deep-seated 
want of something that can work forever and not mind, is 
felt in every household capable of feeling. Some higher 
order of beast, something between a beaver and a woman ; 
think what it would have been. How it might have been 
driven without compunction : how it might have baked and 
brewed, mended stockings, marked clothes, counted linen, 
cleaned house, settled closets, been on its legs from morn to 
dewy eve, and given no superior being a twinge of con- 
science in the beholding. What generations of pale, 
dragged mothers it would have rescued, what scores of 
overworked sisters it would have saved ! Benefactors of 
the race, in bending their efforts to the recovering of this 
lost animal, would do more for the advancement of human 
happiness than they are in the habit of doing in the prose- 
cution of their favorite projects. 

" Aunt Andria, do sit dc wn !" pleaded Laura for the 
dozenth time, as her aunt passed. wearily through the room 
on her way to the store-room, followed by Nattee with 
a trayful of sweetmeat jars, just freshly labelled and 
tied up. 

" Oh yes, my dear, in a little while," returned her aunt, 
\^dth a pale smile. She had conmienced promising it cai'ly 

9* 



202 THE BUTHEBLANDS. 

in the morning, and it was now four o'clock, and Laura bad 
arrived at the conclusion that as nothing but night would 
put a stop to household wants, the sooner it came the 
better. The amount of work that had gone on within that 
house in those ten hours was wonderful, passing belief. 
Dairy-work, chamber-work, kitchen-work, and all done a,t 
diftadvantage on account of the storm. There had been 
baking, ironing, cooking ; Salome was 'thundering' cross, 
and Nattee was " apt to lose her head ;" Steady was slow, 
and Laura was inexperienced ; and upon the poor mother 
had come a weight of actual work and intangible worry 
that was just as surely breaking her down as the comfort it 
insured was building up and pampering those who formed 
her household. 

Laura had tried to do her duty faithfully all the morning, 
had beaten eggs till she nearly fainted, had tortured her 
unaccustomed fingers with the ladle and the butter-bowl, 
and only had succeeded in convincing herself that she was 
a worthless and superfluous creation, and had made her 
aunt miserable at the sight of her fatigue. The kind lady 
had a vague feeling that Laura was only made to be waited 
on and to look pretty; she thought nothing that their house 
afforded half grand or good enough for her, and never 
dreamed that she was doing anything extravagant and 
uncalled for when she waited on her with her omoi hands 
and studied anxiously to anticipate her wishes and enhance 
her conafort. The finest linen in the press went weekly oc 
Laura's bed, the best dimity curtains graced her room; 
its old, swallow-haunted chimney was startled with the 
unheard-of luxmy of a daily fire; in short, there wa« 



THE 8TJTHEELANDS. 203 

nothing left undone to show the love and reverence in 
which the young guest was held. 

And the burden of this honor was wearily oppressing the 
young guest. She was bitterly humbled at the sight of her 
own uselessness and inexperience, and longed beyond 
expression to redeem herself from the character of fine- 
ladyism which she knew she must be bearing. It had 
become her high ambition lately to distinguish herself as a 
good housewife, but everything seemed to have conspired 
to thwart her of its gratification, and she was thinking 
gloomily that afternoon, as she sat by the window watch- 
ing the stoim and neglecting her embroidery; "it's no 
wonder they all look down upon me. I cannot do any- 
thing. I don't see why they never taught me anything 
when I was at^honie. That Cicily van Hansen, with her 
red cheeks, knows twice as much as I do ! Even Salome 
treats me like a child ; my aunt thinks I can't be trusted to 
make a pudding by myself; Lawrence despises me; my 
uncle only doesn't because I am not worthy of his notice. 
I am nothing but a burden and a trouble in the house I" 

The time of the arrival of the letters was four o'clock. 
Warren had brought his books downstairs, Lawrence had 
just that moment come in from the barn, and was drying 
his wet boots before the blaze. He did not look up when 
his father threw the package of letters on the table, but 
WaiTcn did, and a faint color came into his face. 

'Well, Laura, I suppose you're very happy," he said, 
quietly getting up and going to the table. 

Laura did not look very supremely happy, however, or 
very much excited as %he put out her hand for her letter, 



204: THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

She broke the seal and commenced it with a slightly knit 
brow, which did not relax during the reading. It began : 

"My dear Laura: "We all think it was very strange 
you went away without telling us good bye, and Frances 
says I am very foolish for writing you a letter. But I am 
sure you will be interested to hear I am going to be 
married in the spring — ^it is decided at last ; my dear 
Adolphe declares it is cruel to put him off any longer, and 
swears he will not wait another year. He has conscientious 
scruples about eloping, or (I may say to you in confidence) 
we should have been married long ago. It is nothing but 
Charles' ugliness about the settlement that has kept us in 
this state; but now he promises to attend to it before 
spring, and make it all satisfactory. I suppose it is being 
engaged himself makes him better-natured about it. Peo- 
ple are always a little softer then, Frances says. 

" "Were you surprised to hear of the engagement ? They 
are to be married on the first of November, you know. It 
will make a great change for us, but Frances cares more 
about it than I do, I think. Did I tell you Adolphe met us 
at Brussels, last month, and afterwards went up the Rhine 
with us ? Oh, what a sweet time we had! I never enjoyed 
a journey so much in my life. I cannot tell you how many 
funny things happened. I was the only one of the party, 
except Adolphe, who spoke decent German. You ought to 
have heard Charles! Adolphe says my pronunciation is 
really surprising for a foreigner. I hope we shall go abroad 
a& soon as we are married. 

" Frances sends her love to you. She is busy preparing 



THE SOTflEBLAKDS. 205 

the house for its new mistress. You'd hardly know the 
drawing-room — it's really grand. Charles' own rooms are 
all refurnished in such beautiful taste ; and the little study, 
where we've spent so many happy hours over our Frencli, 
is done in pink and gold, and turned into a morning room 
for my lady. I often ask Adolphe if it is not strange that 
people can care for such things when they are rejoicing in a 
first and absorbing affection. I wish you were to be here 
for the wedding — it will be a very grand affair : very differ- 
ent from what mine is to be, though. I am sure you would 
rather be here for mine. I wish Warren were here to per- 
form the ceremony. I can't bear this tiresome Dr. Drawl. 
He is staying with us now, and Frances declares she'd 
rather have an elephant in the house. He is always in the 
way, and is sure to block up just the door you want to pass 
through, and is so heavy and slow he never gets out of the 
way till you've got over wanting to go by him. Would 
you believe it, he hasn't sense enough to leave Adolphe and 
me by ourselves, but comes up and joins us wherever he 
finds us, and is very disagreeable. I must not make my 
letter any longer now. I forgot to ask you how you like 
America ? Do you have a piano at your uncle's ? You ^re 
living with your uncle, are you not ? You must write mo 
all about it. 

" I suppose Georgy has written to you ; she has been so 
much occupied when I have seen her, lately, I'Tiave forgot- 
ten to ask her. I think she's very different since the recent 
change in her circumstances ; but, as Adolphe says, that's 
all very natural. I am sure I should never have let it make 
any difference in my feelings toward her, neither would 



206 THE BUTHERLANDS 

Frances ; but she don't seem to feel the same, and I'm sure 
I can't help it. Wait till you have a lover, my dear, and 
you'll see how little you care for other people. Good-bye. 
"I am your ever affectionate friend, 

" ElXINOE.'* 

" How unlovely love makes people !" thought Laura, as 
«ho laid down her ever affectionate friend EUinor's letter, 
chilled through with its selfishness and folly. " Georgy — 
Ellinor — it seems as if they were all dead. Oh, how weary 
it is ! How lost home seems to me now !" 

"Laura, will you exchange with me?" said Warren, 
giving her his letters, and putting out his hand for hers. 

" Oh, no ! I can't," murmured Laura, involuntarily draw- 
ing it back. It was so cruel to give that letter to Warren 
to read ; every line of it would be a stab to him. And yet, 
he must know — there was no use m keeping it back ; he 
was prepared, she was sure ; and conquering her reluc- 
tance, she gave it to him. 

The interest of the letters he had handed her was not so 
absorbing that she forgot to watch him while he read it. 
He •read it through the first time hurriedly and hungrily, 
then again with a slow, determined mastery of the woe it 
dealt. His was not a face given to abrupt and apparent 
changes ; it had a language, but it was a classical and silent 
one, " not understanded of the people." The assembled 
family might have been around the fireside, with greedy eyes 
fixed on his face, that dull rainy twilight, and have seen no 
more on it, with all the help of the wide blazing fire, than 
weariness and quiet. 



THE 8UTHERLANDS. 207 

But Laura saw more : she saw the slow death of the long 
dying hope, the cruel certainty that had sealed the secretly 
cherished uncertainty. There was no struggle, no rebellion 
—it was too late for that ; but it was the utter extinction 
of life — ^the patient descending into the dull grey sepulchre 
of his earthly hopes, in which he must wait for years, per- 
haps, till the rising of his heavenly hopes ; the falling of a 
gloomy night which had the promise of no dawn, 

" Till from the east the eternal morning moved." 

It was long before Laura, watching him secretly, with 
tender, pitying eyes, dared break his rigid revery. Steal- 
ing to his side, she passed her arm around his neck, and said 
softly, hardly knowing what she said, simply longing to 
make him speak to her : 

" Did you read the letter ? Ellinor seemed very happy." 

"Yes, Laura," he said, putting his hand on hers, and 
looking up at her with a sweet, patient smile ; " they all 
seem very happy." 

Laura could not speak — that smile hurt her like a knife ; 
she leaned her head down on his, and caressed the hand 
she held, with that speechless sort of sympathy that some- 
times goes straightest to the source of pain. 

" Is it not strange, Laura," he said, after a moment, in a 
low, musing voice, " that while God's love for us, and care 
over us, is the one only thing of which, in this uncertain 
world, we can be certain, it should yet be the thing hardest 
to be kept in mind — the thing hardest to be believed ? It 
is well we are not left to choose our own discipline ; we 
should choose very differently from God, I am afraid. But 



208 THE SUTHEELANDB. 

He remembers whereof we are made — He accepts our sub- 
mission, even though He wrings it from us. My sweet sis- 
ter, we have a more merciful Lord than we deserve." 

Long after, Warren thanked God he had had strength to 
say so then ; that he had remembered, even at that dark 
moment, that the last wave of desolation had not swept 
over him — that he was not parted from all earthly love, 
while Laura^s hand clasped his, and Laura's true heai*t beat 
»gainst bis own. 



CHAPTER XIll. 



WHIST. 



** He needs strong arms who is to swim against the stream.** 

Fuller. 

Laura soon found that though ISTattee might not have 
anything to fear from her cousin's resentment, she herself 
had. She began to realize what a man's resentment might 
be ; his cold avoidance of her, the sternness of his voice 
and face whenever he was obliged to address her, the 
control he put upon himself not to make his change of 
manner toward her noticeable to others, made her heartily 
penitent for the share she had had in producing that 
change. She began to realize the difference between a 
tantalizing, half-feigned petulance, and a strong, deep- 
rooted anger, and to wish heartily for the restoration of 
the former, little as she had seemed to like it. 

Two or three evenings in the week, his mother was made' 
entirely wretched by his absence ; no one asked where 
they were spent, but no one doubted, it was at Caspar 
van Hansen's. A stormy scene had occurred between 
him and his father, one night after his return, which 
seemed but to have strengthened the one in his perversity, 
and the other in his opposition. A little obstruction often 
puts the whole machinery of a household out of tune ; this 
little escapade of Nattee's seemed to have deranged things 

900 



210 THE S TI T H E E L A N D 8. 

BO, It looked as if order and harmony had taken their 
eternal flight from that locality. Ralph was black as a 
thmider-cloud — not partaking at all of the transitory nature 
of that phenomenon, however, but lowering perpetually 
in the domestic horizon ; poor Mrs. Sutherland looked pale 
and depressed. Laura felt everybody's discomfort, multi- 
plied by ten, added to her own vexation. Warren 
thought Laura out of spirits, and was disturbed accord- 
ingly. Steady was her mistress' shadow, and felt its dark- 
euing. Nattee cried her eyes out in secret, and blundered 
and fluttered in public ; while the high-handed young 
tyrant, the. withdrawal of whose smiles caused all this 
eclipse, at home looked lordly and nonchalant to an insup- 
portable degree, and shone with added lustre at the Van 
Hansen hearthstone. 

One windy evening, about a fortnight after the com- 
mencement of this state of things, immediately upon the 
clearing away of supper, Lawrence, as usual, got up from 
his chair, and after loitering a little by the fire, reached 
down his pipe and tobacco-box, filled and lit the pipe, 
buttoned his coat tight across his chest, and turned to 
leave the room. The family were assembled around the 
fire, and Laura looked with apprehension when she saw 
Mrs. Sutherland follow him to the door. 

" You're not going out again to-night, Larry ?" she said 
uneasily, laying her hand timidly on his arm. 

"Why, yes, ma'am, I'd thought of it," he returned, stop 
ping, but looking quite unmoved. 

"Why dp you — ^I mean — ^can't you — don't you think 
it would be pleasanter to stay at home just this once t^ 



THE BUTHEBLANDS. 211 

** I hadn't thought so, ma'ara, I acknowledge." 

" I wish, my son " she began, and then stopped. 

" Come, Larrj," said Warren, laying aside his book and 
getting up. " Come, make an exception in our favor to- 
night. Stay home and have a game of whist. I have not 
layed a rubber since I came to America." 

Laura looked in admiration, for she knew that Warre 
hated cards, and that in old times there had been no more 
dreaded penance for him than to be called from his book to 
make up a table in default of any more enthusiastic player. 
The Rector had loved his game of whist with a truly 
pastoral affection, and it had held a place in his evening 
as undisputed as his nap or his cup of tea. Warren and 
Laura had been early instructed in the doctrines set forth 
by Hoyle, and relished their pmctice about as much as 
they did the rendering of their Latin themes, and the 
wilting of their first French exercises. WaiTen's proposal, 
therefore, Laura looked upon as a wonderful instance of 
self-sacrifice, but quite in character with his habitual, 
unostentatious rentmciation of every personal comfort and 
pleasure. Some pious men make an example to their 
other lusts of some one favorite, and go on crucifying it 
ajone, and remunerating themselves by a half grumbling 
indulgence of the others all their days ; but Warren's self- 
denial was the habit of his mind, the uppermost thought, 
so constant that it had ceased to be a thought and grown 
o be an impulse ; so habitual, that his own gratification 
came, if it came at all, only as an afterthought ; so 
thorough, that he hardly had a wish. 

His aunt gave him a grateful look, and said beseechingly 



212 THE St7TH£BLANDS. 

" Do stay, Larry, my son. It would be so jAeasont to 
have a game I" 

"Why mother," he cried, half impatiently, "I didn't 
know you cared for cards. It's a new entertainment for 
you,*' 

" Perhaps she cares to see the rest of us enteitamed,** 
said Warren. " Come, Larry, don't be a perverse." 

" You can play without me, good people, just as well as 
with me. I know I shall not add much to your entertain- 
ment." 

" I don't think it probable you will, but still we cannot 
play without you, such is the importance you derive from 
the fact of the existence of but three whist-players in the 
house. Aunt Andria does not play, and there are only 
Uncle Ralph, Laura and myself. It remains to be seen 
whether three people shall be deprived of an evening's 
entertainment solely on account of the selfish disposition 
of the fourth. Oh, most hard-hearted, it shall not be. 
You shall stay; put down that pipe, and resume your 
seat." 

"Upon my word!" cried Lawrence, half impatient 
and half amused, as he reluctantly relinquished his pipe, 
and approached the chair his mother placed for him. 

"Laura, find the cards, will you?" said her brother. 
" Uncle, are you not coming to the table ?" 

Ralph was very well pleased with the arrangement, but 
true to his principles of opposition, growled, and raised a 
dozen objections, before he hitched his chair over to the 
card table, and took up one of the packs Laura laid on it. 

" How shall we arrange ourselves ?" said Warren. 



THE SUTHEBLANDB* 213 

"Fatlier, cut, if you please," said Lawrence, quickly 
banding him a pack.. 

The cards were perverse, Iiowever, and sentenced him to 
Laura, and she felt her cheeks burn at the involuntary 
compression of his lips as he took his place at the table. 
His temper, however, was destined to a further trial. All 
that a young lady could do in the way of trumping her 
partner's tricks, returning her adversary's leads, forgetting 
what cards were out, and being generally aggravating, 
Laura did that night. 

" Why, Laura, I never saw you play so badly !'' Warren 
said, after one horrible mistake. 

"I can't help it, Warren," she said, ready to cry, and 
mimediately making one much worse. 

Whist being a game which, for anything like success, 
requires the most collected state of the female mind, was 
naturally a failure in Laura's case ; for besides having a 
silent, aggravated, and bitterly polite partner, she harbored 
a morbid dread of putting her uncle in a passion, and 
making Warren ashamed of her. Warren played an 
irreproachable game ; so well-trained and clear a mind as 
his, of course could not fail to master anything of the 
kind he undertook, and Ralph smacked his lips with fat 
satisfaction as he watched the development of his plans. 
Lawrence played well too, not perhaps so scientifically and 
thoughtfully as his cousin, but with equal clearness and 
boldness, and as the game advanced, the three men began 
to feci an interest in it, that two at least had lacked 
at the outset. Lawrence had the disinclination to be 
outdone, common to persons of his temperament, and 



214 THE SUTHER:f.ANDS. 

was concentrating his mind upon what he was about, aiiJ, 
by the help of tolerable cards, was keeping up against 
pretty heavy odds, when the following most trying circum. 
stance occurred : 

A run of rather poor cards had kept down the grasping 
ambition of Warren and his uncle for the last two hands, 
and their opponents (though Laura hardly deserved the 
name) only needed the odd trick to put them out. Laura 
hv^ had a short suit of diamonds, which Lawrence had led 
her twice, and which she had, very respectably, trumped. 
But the third time round, knowing from the state of his 
own finances, that it could not possibly pass both adver- 
saries again, and feeling in the keenest manner all that 
hung upon the winning or losing of that card, Lawrence 
said involuntarily, " Look out, Laura, what you do." And 
Laura, thrown into utter confusion and bewilderment by 
her desire to comply with his request, looked out most 
effectually, and played the lowest trump in her hand. 

" You little fool !" chuckled Ralph, as he put his queen 
upon it with saturnine satisfaction ; while her brother said, 
" Laura 1" wouderingly, and Lawrence, with compressed 
lips, exclaimed : " That settles it ; you have the card," and 
threw his down upon the table. While Laura's dropped 
into her lap, and covering her face with her hands — she 
burst into tears. The fact was, she had been bothered, and 
frightened, and intent, and had her mind upon the stretcl* 
for the last hour, and this climax had called for a salt 
control beyond her present powers. 

"Laura, don't be foolish," said her brother, quietly, 
laying his hand upon her arm, and preventing her re- 



THE 8UTHERLAND8. 216 

treat. "Do you desire another game, sir, or are you 
tired ?»» 

" No, no," said Ralph, " give 'em another beating ; 
they'll be the better for it. Here, it's my deal ; cut for me, 
Lawrence." 

Laura had made a violent effort to recover herself and 
had succeeded so far as to take up her cards and assort 
them in rather an unsystematic way, when a loud knock 
thundered from the front, door, and an accompanying 
emphatic clearing of the throat, heralded the advent of 
some strong-lunged visitor. 

" Pertinax, as I'm a sinner I" cried Larry, laying down 
his cards to listen. " I should know that ' hem ' if I heard 
it in Jerusalem. "Warren, you're a lost man if he catches you 
at the card-table I He'll preach you into ribbons ; he won't 
leave you a shred of reputation to go home in ; he'll ruin 
you, my poor boy — ^fly, if you value your good name : 
throw down your cards, if you have any mercy on yourself I 
Why, what's the matter with the man? I vow he's so 
scared he can't niove I Look at him !" 

" You're half right," said Warren, with a smile. " I am 
in a sufficiently awkward predicament, I must confess ; it's 
lucky I don't want to i*un, for I could not get very far ! 
You needn't give me any credit for standing my ground, 
for I haven't strength to get away from it !" 

" I haven't seen father look so pleased in a year," said 
Lawrence, laughing, as ISTattee went to the door. " War- 
ren, I know you wish you could go through to China, but 
meet your fate like a man, my good fellow !" 

"Lawrence, do be careful, my son," murmured Mrs, 



216 THE gUTHEKLANDS. 

Sutherland, anxiously, as a great rush of cold air from the 
hall announced that the door had been opened. 

" I am careful, mother ; I'd have put the cards under the 
table if I hadn't been prevented." 

'' At least we will not disedify Mr. Pound, by going on 
with our game," said Warren. "Put down your cards, 
Laura. You are released." 

" Put down your o^vn," whispered Larry, as the guest 
made Ms appearance at the door. But Warren evidently 
had no intention of putting them down ; he kept them 
rather ostentatiously in his hand as he rose and advanced to 
meet the new-comer. It required all his self-command, 
however, to keep a perfectly unmoved face and easy man- 
ner as he encountered the astounded Puritan. Entirely 
unrestrained by the shackles that encumber people in polite 
society, Mr. Pound experienced no compunction in letting 
his horror and astonishment sit openly upon his expressive 
face. Silent rebuke formed no part either of his vigorous 
creed ; he would have esteemed himself shamefully derelict 
in his duty, if he had ever held his tongue at the sight of 
any of his neighbors' sins. He seemed to hold himself per- 
sonally responsible for all the evil that was done upon the 
earth, and went at its chastisement as if the entire 
annihilation of it by his hand were his only chance of 
escaping eternal damnation. It seemed to be his solemn 
conviction that he held a special'commission from the court 
of heaven to pitch into everybody ; no churchman vowed 
to belief in the Apostolic succession, ever proclaimed or felt 
a more towering apprehension of the importance of Lis 
office. With this difference, though, that the arrogant 



THE STJTHERLANDS. 217 

churchman, however fond of power, acknowledged that it 
had a bound, as far as temporalities went, while the 
Reverend Pertinax thundered alike at Jew and Gentile, 
friend and foe, the dweller in his own parish, and the 
dweller in his neighbor's parish. It becomes rather a 
dangerous thing in a community, when a member of it 
clothes himself at will with such unlimited powers ; Mother 
Church, assuming as she is regarded in other cases, is 
rather a safeguard in this. The world has circled round 
her for many ages in spasmodic expansions of thought and 
uncertain rushes of spiritual advancement and philosophic 
progress ; but the wave that beats about her base to-day, 
is little different from the wave that dashed itself into foam 
upon her firm foundation hundreds of years ago ; " she is 
founded upon a rock, but is planted in the sea." The light 
she lijfls on high and that streams so steadily now across 
the tumbling waters, has sometimes flickered and wavered 
and burned low, but the death of time alone shall witness 
its extinction; "the sacred, high, eternal noon*' of glory 
alone shall quench its faithful flame. 

Mrs. Sutherland followed anxiously in Warren's wake, 
and tried to make the visitor welcome, but he entirely 
refused to be made welcome, merely waving his hand 
in acknowledgment of her civility, and flashing his eyes 
about the room in a very scathing manner. 

" It is a very windy night," said Warren, anxious to 
break the oppressive pause that had followed his aunt's 
meek hospitality. " You must have had a cold walk across 
the Flats. Will you not come to the fire ?" 

Still no answer, and a dreadful glare at the card-table. 

10 



218 THE SITTHEBLANDS. 

" Wall, bnt won't you sit down anyhow, Mr. Pound ?*• 
cried LaiTy, putting a chair so very near him, he could 
hardly help sitting down. 

" No, young man," he said, in an a,w£vl voice (joking 
apart, it was awful, for there was a tremendous power in 
the man's sincerity of purpose and entire faith in himself). 

No, young manj I'll not sit down till I have spoke my 
mind. I'll not sit down among gamblers and breakers of 
the law, without tellin' 'em the message the Lord sends 'em 
by my mouth. I should be a careless watchman if I didn't 
warn 'em ; I should be a wicked shepherd if I let the 
sheep wander off into all sorts o' wildernesses, and didn't 
strive to bring 'em back." 

" That's very true," said Warren ; " but don't you agree 
with me, it is only in your own station you are to sound the 
trumpet, only your own flock you are responsible for? 
Think what confusion would arise, my good friend, if every 
watchman's eyes were fixed upon the distant towers of the 
adjacent cities, when he was only set to guard his own — if 
every shepherd left his own sheep, and went to oversee his 
neighbor's flock." 

" Aye," said the heretical parson, stoutly ; " but in the 

Lord's vineyard there are no such distinctions — ^there is no 
mine and thine — we all do the Lord's work, in the Lord's 

strength, and in the Lord's time, just when He sends us 

to do it." 

" In a word, then," said Warren, " Heaven's first law is 

outraged on earth by God's appointment? Law and order 

are necessary for the heavenly hosts, but are superfluoua 

among the children of men 1" 



THE SIJTHEBLANDB. 219 

** The word of the Lord is not bound," said the Rev€f 
rend Pertinax, shaking his head. " He can save by many 
or by few. He doe«n't need the ordinances of man 
There is a natural body and there is a spiritual body ; the 
natural body, it is the corruptible church you swear by ; 
the spiritual body, it is the Lord's people everywhere, of 
all kindred and peoples and tongues scattered abroad upon 
the face of the earth." 

A slight expression of pain contracted Warren's face ; 
the sacred words that never crossed his lips without a 
reverent humbling of heart and voice, struck him almost 
with horror, coming from the hard-voiced, uncompromising 
dogmatical preacher. . With the promiscuous mixing up ot 
Holy Writ and unholy prejudices, the liberal twistuig oi 
scriptural language to secular application, he had been 
entirely unacquainted till he had made Mr. Pound's 
acquaintance, and that acquaintance had not been as yet 
sufficiently familiar to wear off the edge of his discomfort. 
Warren had still a great deal to unlearn, a great deal of 
reverence and refinement to get rid of, before he could 
meet his opponent on equal ground. To stand there, lean- 
ing against the card-table, with Laura listening, with 
Larry's laughing eyes upon him, knowing his uncle's 
brutal pleasure, openly expressed, in seeing the Christians 
fight, was a trial quite beyond even his powers of endu- 
rance. 

" At any rate, we'll make a compromise, Mr. Pound," he 
said, with a smile of indestructible good breeding. "If you 
will not acknowledge I have a right to set my parishioners 
an example of which you disapprove, at least you will 



220 THE 8UTHEELANDS. 

accept my apologies for having offended your conscience, 
aud my assurances that I did it unwittingly." 

" I don't suppose," said the preacher, somewhat moUifiedi 
as Warren collected the cards, and putting them into the 
drawer of the table, pushed it back, "I don't suppose 
you did it with an evil mind ; you are as one that gropeth 
for the wall, and as one that stumbleth at noonday and 
hath no light. Your church hath blinded your eyes to the 
truth ; therefore, as it was not your willful error, I have 
spokeij." 

" I am sure I appreciate your kindness," Warren said, 
with such a sweet-temperedness that Pertinax melted down 
into the chair he placed for him without a murmur, and the 
family subsided into their seats. 

" I'm hanged if I do, though," growled Ralph, indignant 
at the pacific tone the conversation threatened to take, and 
exasperated at once by the loss of the fight and the inter- 
ruption of the game. 

" Oh, dear uncle, please !" murmured Laura earnestly, 
leaning over his chair and touching his lips with her cool, 

soft hand, "don't say anything about the cards; it will 

* 
distress Warren so extremely — it will make him so uncom- 
fortable." 

The old man looked at her for a moment without 
speaking ; perhaps there was something in the unusual 
touch of a woman's hand upon his hard and ugly lips, that 
sealed them for the moment ; perhaps there was something 
in the control he seemed recently to have put upon himself 
in regard to Warren and Laura ; at all events, with an oath 
uttered so low, even Laura did not catch its full profanity. 



THE SUTflEELANDff. 221 

he sank back in his chair and made no further protest in 
the matter of the cards. 

But the earnest-minded parson could not let them drop ; 
he had not had his say, his conscience or his loquacity were 
stUl unsatisfied. Lawrence, who admired his cousin infi- 
nitely, watched with great enjoyment his quiet, well-bred 
endurance of the guest's impertinences, his simple refuta- 
tions of the charges he advanced, his startHng clearness and 
perspicuity when he was driven to defend his cause. No 
one could say, when at last the argument wore itself out 
and sank down into its own embers, that Warren had not 
had the best of it; even Pertinax's stoutest champion 
would have had to own he had suffered considerable damage 
at his adversary's hands. Warren had been used to dealing 
with much more practised intellects than Pertinax had ever 
had the advantage of encountering, and all that training 
could do for him had been done. When it came to the 
handling of such a question as this, as a simple matter of 
argument, Pertinax was "nowhere." Warren could out- 
think him any day, though perhaps he could not have 
out-lived him nor out-preached him. The crowning gloiy 
of his triumph on this occasion was, however, that at the 
close of the engagement, he set his adversary on his feet 
again, and made him half uncertain who was victor, and 
soothed him into a temporary oblivion of his sprains and 
scratches. 

This, however, had but just been effected, and some 
inoffensive and unexciting subject brought under discussion, 
when the tall clock in the comer bawled out " Nine I" and 
threw Warren into a new perplexity. About a week 



222 . THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

before, he had obtained with infinite effort the consent of 
his uncle to the regular reading of family prayers in the 
household, and though at the striking of nine and the* 
entrance of the servants, he always shambled off to bed 
with a most diseJifying and ostentatious scorn of the pro- 
ceedings, his nephew was not in the least disheartened by 
it, nor indeed did it seem to have much effect upon any one 
who witnessed it. Warren could not help thinking his 
uncle's disapprobation tended rather to prejudice the slaves 
in favor of, than against the service ; at any rate, they were 
attentive and well-behaved, and trooped into the sitting- 
room with great punctuality and grave decorum at the 
striking of nine o'clock. 

On this ill-starred night, the last syllable of the announce- 
ment had not died upon the air, before Warren's anxious 
ear caught the shoving back of the kitchen chairs and the 
clumping of Rube's heavy ehoes across the kitchen floor. 
There remained now no hope that the reverend gentleman 
would leave the field ; indeed, nothing remained for 
Warren but to do his duty, and probably give him mortal 
offence. He had heard enough of the spiritual etiquette of 
Methodism to know he was expected to ask his visitor to 
make a prayer, and probably to select and read " the chap- 
ter." Now, though Warren had no doubt, in his humble 
heart, that his visitor's prayers were just as acceptable to 
Heaven as his own, as far as their individual piety could 
make them acceptable, he had no doubt, either, that he 
would be conmiitting a sin in permitting him to officiate in 
his stead — a sin quite as heinous in his eyes as the sin of 
card-playing was in his brother's eyes. Apart from the 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 223 

probability of his profiting by the opportunity to thrust 
gome wild and unsettling doctrine into his petition, if he had 
been permitted to make it, Warren's strait-laced interpre- 
tation of his creed forbade such an encouragement of 
heretical intrusion; he ached at the bare idea of giving 
pain and causing misapprehension, but he did not harbor 
the least idea of doing evil that good might come. 

When old Ralph had gathered up his shoes and his vest 
and his candle, he walked over to the door, then pausing 
before he opened it, and glancing back upon the quietly 
assembled servants and apparently devout circle around the 
fire, he said, with a most unprepossessing laugh, " Ydu've 
been doing some pretty hard fightin', and now I suppose 
you're going to do some pretty hard prayin' ; but I doubt 
whether the prayin' '11 be as much to your liking as the 
fightin' was. It takes you Christians to maul each other l^ 

As the door closed upon his ugly face, a moment's silence 
fell, as Warren, a thought paler than usual, shaded his eyes 
fi'om the light and bent over the great Bible, open on the 
table ; then, in the beautiful voice that suppressed feeling 
only made more beautiful, he began that sublime Thirteenth 
of First Corinthians. It was the Evening Lesson, but if he 
had had all the books of the old and new Dispensation to 
choose from, he could have chosen none more fitted for the 
evening's trial. No senoion more impressive was ever 
preached than those thirteen verses ; into every heart the 
wonderful voice that read carried the wonderful words of 
inspiration, with the magnetic force of feith and feeling. 
And when they rose from their knees, and the impressed 
and quiet servants left the room, the great-hearted old 



224 THE 8UTIIEBLANDS. 

Methodist laid liis rough hand in Warren's delicate palm, 
and said with a somewhat husky and unsteady voice : " We 
get our religion out o' the same book, if we don't go the 
same way to get it ; and I'm thinkin', the same Lord is rich 
in mercy to all them that call upon Him, w^hatever words 
they take to call upon Him with. He can hear you when 
you pray to Him in the words He's given to your church, 
and Jle can hear me when I pray to Him in the words He's 
put into my heart. An' it seems to me, we'd be shaming 
the Lord we both believe in, an' short enin' His arm, if we 
couldn't trust Him to bring both out right, an' to make us 
work His will, just as He wants to have it worked, without 
quaiTellin' wi' each other about the way it's to be done. 
We ain't much after all, my brother ; we may know a good 
deal as far as men can see, but we're cryin', crawlin' babies 
in the sight o' God — we're so near to nothing, we'll die 
with shame when the Great Day comes, if we've been 
countin' on om'selves. Maybe I'in right, and maybe you're 
right, and maybe we're both wrong; God knows. We 
won't quarrel. He can see through an' through us ; let us 
spend what time we've got to spare from workin' in praisin' 
Him, not in pickin' at each other. The best merit that 
we've either of us got, is that we're servin' Him ; and we 
arn't servin' Him when we're livin' in malice an' envy, hate- 
ful an' hatin' one another. I'm willin' to leave all our 
differences to the Lord to settle, an' hold myself your friend 
an' brother while I'm in the flesh." 

" God knows," said Warren, as he grasped his hand, 
*^ my heart is not so narrow as ever to distrust you, and 
vours is great enough never to misapprehend me. When 



THE SUTHESLANDS. 225 

my duty leads me to oppose your teaching, you will know 
it is the creed I cannot sanction, not the man I cannot 
reverence. When my church forbids my joining with your 
worship, you will know it is not that I doubt the holiness 
and fervor that animates it. We will, as you have said, 
put all our differences of creed into God's gracious hands, 
and serve Him in simplicity of faith and in charity of feel- 
ing. You have spent your life in a service which I have 
but just begun ; you have a claim upon my reverence and 
affection, and all but my allegiance, and I have a claim 
to your forbearance and your gentle judgment of all the 
rashnesses and inconsistencies my youth may lead me into. 
Whatever comes, believe me, I hold you in high regard and 
honor, and hope to prove to you by my life, if I cannot by 
my words, that we have a common faith and serve a 
common Master." 

" We understand each other, then," he answered, turning 
away and going toward the door. " We'll keep this in our 
minds against our next temptation." And without anotfjer 
word, or a single salutatioii. the strange old man wai 
gone. 



10" 



CHAPTER XIV. 

ALL saints' day. 

* And blest are they who sleep ; and we that know, 

While in a spot like this we breathe and walk, 

That all beneath us by the wings are covered 

Of motherly Humanity, outspread, 

And gathering all within their tender shade, 

Though loath and slow to come V^ 

Wordsworth. 

It was the eve of All Saints — a sweet, still Indian 
summer afternoon — and Laura and Warren, having just 
completed the pious work that had occupied their hearts 
and hands so many weeks, turned the key of the chapel 
door, and turned toward home. Warren walked forward 
slowly and thoughtfully as was his wont, but Laura, as was 
her wont, found something beautiful and admirable in every 
step, and was constantly calling to her brother to stop and 
share her younger and more demonstrative enthusiasm. 

"It's so seldom," she cried, reproachfully, "that you 
walk with me, I think it is unkind, when you do, that you 
cannot remember I am with you, and enjoy the things that 
I admire." 

" Well," he said, stopping, and tryirig to look interested, 
but only succeeding in looking very patient and affection- 
ate, " Well, what am I to admire ? I am sure I am ready 
to enjoy anything you want me to." 

" Oh, yes, but that's so cold and mannish ; you have no 
enthusiasm. I am sure you did not use to be so. Yon 

226 



THE 8UTHEELAND8. 227 

used to see things of yourself, and didn't need to have them 
pointed out to you. Why, often in the woods at home, do 
you remember ? you and Georgy used to say, you did not 
think I had a soul, I was so quiet. A view like that, then^ 

would have made you eloquent. ^Ah 1 what have I done !" 

she thought, a moment after, glancing at his face. 

"Forgive me," he said, laying his hand on hers, and 
looking at her with most sad eyes, " Forgive me, if I disap- 
point you. The world is not beautiful to me any longer, 
Laura: the dead can ask but peace. Did that sound 
like ingratitude ?" he continued, as he watched the look of 
pain upon her face. " I did not mean it so ; God knows 
there is nothing better, or safer, or holier than peace. 
Laura, after a great sorrow, a sharp trial — before the resui^ 
rection to a later happiness — there intervenes a rest, a 
silence, a Hades of the soul on earth, which pleasure and 
pain are both powerless to invade. I dread its ending !'* 

They had left the clearing on which the chapel stood, 
overlooking the woodland below and the distant Flats, and 
were just entering the path that led through the forest 
toward the farm, when Laura's eye fell upon a newly- 
erected cross, at the head of the single grave, in the little 
churchyard. 

" Look, Warren," she said, " that has been put there 
since morning !" 

" Ah ! how like Lawrence !" he exclaimed, retummg 
with her to poor Mark's grave. " That memorial has taken 
up many an hour I have feared was wasted in a worse occu- 
pation. I am just beginning to know Lawrence. I see 
something unlooked-for in him every day." 



228 THE SUTnEBLANDS. 

The beautiful hazy Indian summer days come the earliest 
and " the longest tarry " around those Catskill Mountains ; 
and All Saints was a day much to be remembered for its 
loveliness and stillness. The dead and yellow leaves hung 
yet upon the trees, waiting for the chilly blast chained still 
up in the mountain gorges : the faint haze, that to-morrow 
might be scattered, hung yet about the lowlands, hiding 
the work the frost had done, drawing a veil between the 
autumn's fading and the winter's fury. " Silence and peace 
on that high wold ;" perhaps it was the eve of desolation 
and gloom — but the gloom and desolation had not yet 
descended. 

The first service in the chapel ! Laura's heart beat thick 
and quick, as she knelt down among the handful of children 
who were to be her charge. How would it seem to listen 
again to the prayers she had not heard since her father's 
voice read them in the old Borringdon church ? how would it 
seem, to see Warren in his place — Warren, her playmate 
and companion ? It was strange ; but as she sat waiting 
lor the opening of the little vestry-room door, she could not 
think of Warren as he now was, but only of him as he had 
been — the clever, high-spirited boy of old, the daring leader 
of wild pranks among his schoolmates, the ingenious con- 
triver of all the home amusements, the dictator of the little 
cii'cle at the Park and Parsonage. Warren and Georgy in 
secret session over the Christmas tableaux, Georgy dressing 
WaiTcn for his part in the " Twelfth ISTight " play, or War- 
ren teaching Georgy how to emphasize the epilogue — ^these 
were sort of pictures that her memory restored of the 
dear old times at home, the dear old times that were so 



THE S U'T H E R L A N D 8. 229 

fatally, so hopelessly dead to them both. She could not 
think of Georgy, proud, cold, and self-contained, sold to a 
life her better nature scorned ; she could not think of 
Warren, pale and sanctified, parted forever from aU earthly 
pleasures and ambitions ; she could only think of the hand- 
some, happy children who had made the Hiltonbury woods 
ling with their careless songs, the clever boy and girl who 
had studied and thought together till there was not a 
thought in cither's mind that was not associated with the 
other. 

She knew the summer's grass was sei:e and dead on the 
Easter-made grave in the Borringdon churchyard ; that the 
dust lay thick on the vacant chair in the silent Parsonage ; 
that a new voice read the prayers in the grey old church ; 
that new friends and new interests filled up their places in 
the homes where they had once been familiar ; that pleasures 
and rejoicings, in which they could bear no part, were even 
now blottiQg out their memory more completely — she knew 
all this, but she could not feel it ; she could only think of 
the old times, the old pleasures, the old faces. She won- 
dered if Warren was thinking about them, too; if he 
remembered what a different service was going on in Bor- 
ringdon church that day ; in what dress his beautiful com- 
panion would soon be standing before the altar, with the 
rich light of the chancel window falling on her sweeping 
veil, and crimson cheeks, and shining hair. What crowds 
would fill the aisles, what murmured blessings would follow 
her as she passed out, what insincere good wishes and 
empty flattering would meet her as she entered her new 
home ? 



280 THE SUTHEKLANDS. 

Yes, Warren had thought of it all ; as he stood for a 
moment looking from the little arched window of tho 
vestry-room, before he came into the chancel, he said: 
*' On earth as it is in heaven ;" he was " martyr yet mon- 
arch ;" he had conquered the last throe of rebellion, tho 
last struggle of nature ; and when Laura caught the gleam 
of his white surplice as he entered, she started from her 
dreamy re very, but her brother's face and figure, as she 
looked up, seemed more dreamy and unreal to her than her 
revery. It was* the face she loved, but glorified, " stricken 
by an angel's hand," white and worn with the earthly con- 
flict, but beautiful with the distant brightness of the heaven 
toward which it was ever turned. 

" God will hear Azm," murmured Rube, involuntarily 
putting down his head to pray, as the young minister knelt 
before the readino^-desk. 

" I wonder if they look so where father went," thought 
Steady, watching him with wistful eyes. 

" I believe in him," was the quick strong impress that a 
glance at his face flashed upon Larry's mind. 

"A young saint," said the Reverend Pertinax Pound, 
below his breath. He sat on the rough bench nearest tho 
door, with his stick between his knees and his chin resting 
upon it. His knees were at the only angle he meant them 
to assume in this place, while he was master of them, and 
his stubborn old head had suffered all the abasement he 
meant it to suffer ; therefore, his searching grey eyes were 
not hindered in their scrutiny by any suggestions of rever- 
ence or decorum. If the prayers woke any sympathy in 
him, why of course he'd pray, hut he didn't think it at all 



THE SUTHESLANDS. 231 

likely that they would. He was willing to listen to all tbd 
young man had to say; he didn't anticipate much that 
savored of sound doctrine ; but if he happened to hit upon 
any, he was not the man to refuse to say "amen" to the 
Lord's truth, come from whom it would. 

It was hard to strike Pertinax through the eye, but per. 
haps there was more than he chose to own, even to himself 
or fully understood, in the contrast between his own rough 
meeting-house, with its half-peeled walls, gritty floor and 
mongrel smell, a cross between tavern and school-house, 
and this strange achievement of beauty and refinement in 
the wilderness. There was nothing, either, violently to 
shock his partisan prejudices. It was simple enough, in all 
reason. There was no attempt to cover the rough brown 
logs ; the daylight came in through long, narrow strips 
of windows, one small pane above another. The floor waa 
paved with broad, flat stones, the benches were of dark, un« 
painted wood, the chancel was railed ofi* with a simple rail- 
ing of the same. The reading-desk was covered with a 
rich embroidered cloth of Laura's working, and an altar 
cloth of crimson with a heavy fringe swept the stone floor 
of the chancel. There was a cross upon the altar of carved 
wood, and the three narrow windows above it were, by 
suggestive gradation, Gothic in their tendency. The door 
of the little chapel was a double one, and was standing 
open now, framing a beautiful picture of sky and forest and 
mountain for the young minister's eyes when he rose from 
his knees and faced his little flock. 

" An uncommon little flock," thought Mr. Pound, with 
unconscious satisfaction as he glanced abound. Fes, but to 



232 riiE SUTHEELANDS. 

a little flock, Warren thought as he glanced around, out 
Lord once promised the kingdom. It was their hardness 
of heart more than their littleness of number that he saw 
cause to fear. He must aim straight at their souls ; there 
was no cultivation of intellect to help or hinder him, no 
delicacy of feeling through which to reach them, no sacred 
associations to be touched ; it was all new, strange and 
wonderful to them, and by that newness, strangeness and 
wonderful ness he must seize them. His aunt, Laura, Law- 
rence and the Methodist preacher were his only intelligent 
hearers ; children, slaves and Indians formed the rest. 

The question, shguld he cut down the semce, shorten it 
to suit their patience and their comprehension, never 
occurred to him, or occurred to be rejected, and so unap- 
proved as left no stain or blame behind. Of course they 
did not understand it fully ; perhaps they understood it in 
very small part ; perhaps the only music that they caught 
in all the wonderful harmony of that day's service, was the 
music of his beautiful voice ; perhaps that most rich First 
Lesson had no merit for them but its shortness ; perhaps the 
Collect was Greek to them ; perhaps the prayers were all 
unmeaning ; but to the steadfast mind of Warren, this was 
no insurmountable discouragement. He could look through 
and beyond worse barriers than ignorance and dullness ; he 
trusted more to the church's wisdom than his own ; he was 
humble enough to believe more in the accumulated wis- 
dom of ages than in his own discretion. He would not go 
around the barrier that their ignorance and their dullness 
placed between them and their salvation ; he would not go 
around it and meet them on their own ground, and leave 



THE SUTHERLAND8. 233 

the barrier still standing , but he would patiently destroy 
it, he would level it, they sho.uld walk over its ruins to 
receive the salvation waiting for them in God's appointed, 
unchanging, sufficient way. He, for one, did not under- 
rate the labors of the fathers ; he did not care much about 
the spirit of the age (for they talked a good deal about the 
spirit of the age even then) ; he did not flatter himself that 
he could find out a scheme for saving souls better than the 
one Cranmer and Latimer, Wilson and Taylor, Leighton 
and Andrews had worked by. He was very certain that 
if he brought to his work anything like the faith and stead- 
fastness that they brought to theirs, it would be as effective 
in the eighteenth century as it had been in the centuries 
that had come before the eighteenth. 

In His sight, to whom a thousand years are as one day, 
these many changes, this advancing " spirit of the age " 
which claims such mighty license, must look pitiably insig- 
nificant. Heaven and earth may pass away, we are assured, 
but not one jot or one tittle of His law shall. 

There was no pulpit, happily, for Warren to go into, so 
leaning one arm and hand upon the reading-desk, and hold- 
ing his father's heavily bound red Prayer-book in the other, 
he preached his first sermon, if that can be called a sermon 
which has neither texts nor heads, and is not delivered from 
a pulpit, and is not read from a MS. A sunbeam struggled 
down through the narrow strip of window, and fell across 
the red altar-cloth, and lost itself in the folds of his surplice, 
and shone out again across the white, transparent hand 
that drooped upon it. An occasional dead leaf fluttered 
down from its tree and fell among the de^d leaves on the 



234: THB SUTHEELANDB. 

ground ; sometimes an acorn dropped with a little plash 
into the brook that tinkled through the forest, but these 
were all the sounds that stirred the solitude. With those 
few sheep in the wildemesa hanging on his voice, with that 
vision of the land of Beulah lying there before him in the 
hazy sunlight, with the memory of the churchyard at home, 
with that Seventh of Revelation ringing in his ears, it was 
no wonder his words had a power and clearness about 
them that no eloquence bom of earth can have ; it was no 
wonder that while they had a dignity and fitness that 
would not have disgraced the scholastic halls where he had 
learned them, there was a simplicity and spirituality in 
them that woke a chord in every soul that listened. 

Steady listened, with slow-gathering tears, as he told 
them for whom this day was set apart, the multitudes of 
unchronicled, uncalendared dead throughout the world 
who have gone from us, and whose going we have taken for 
utter destruction, but whose departure, this good day 
reminds us, is not misery — whose hope is full of immor- 
tality — ^who are in peace. And each grave, on the broad 
breast of the whole earth, whether men have marked it or 
forgotten it, is in God's care ; briers and weeds cannot 
hide it from His eyes, neglect and desolation cannot cover 
it from His care. 

His care for His dead saints, for His living, sinning, strug- 
gling servants ; the great love wherewith He loved us, 
the great joy He has in our obedience, the patience He had 
with our slow progress and our many falls ; ,what strange, 
bewildering news this must have been to ISTattee, lean- 
ing forward, with deepening, darkening eyes fixed on the 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 235 

preacher's face, and groping blindly for the faint and far 
off glimmer of the truth that alone could solve the miser 
able problem of her life. 

What peace and pleasure to poor old Rube, to hear the 
dumb faith of his whole life put into such clear words. 
What deep and silent thanksgiving must have filled gentle 
Mrs. Sutherland's worn and aching heart at this beautiful 
fulfillment of all her patient prayers. How many prayers, 
indeed, found their fulfillment in that day's service ; it 
was one of those brief days of comfort and of grace that if 
sent too often would 

" Tempt the heart 



From sober walking in true Gospel ways." 

" Choose to believe, not see," is our best wisdom here. 
It is not safe for saints to see the good they do ; they are 
most subtly tempted when they are above temptation ; all 
hell is gathering itself to assault their faith and spoil their 
patience when they shall descend from the mount of beatific 
vision into the midst of the cold, careless, faithless, idola- 
trous world again. And Warren Sutherland, saint as he 
was, could not live always in the glorified calm of such a 
day as that : " the joy of heaven accepted prayer," the 
triumph of resignation, the conquest over the flesh, the 
momentary vision of the true, was soon to ])e clouded and 
marred again ; but the memory of that quiet, holy day was 
one of the most sacred he cherished through all the rem- 
nant of his saddened days. 



CHAPTER XV. 

UNDER THE GRAPE-VINE. 

" She is most fair, and thereunto 
Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
Feeling or thought that was not true 
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue 
Unclouded heaven of her eyes." 

J. R. Lowell. 

After dinner, on the second of November, Laura, in 
pursuance of those good resolutions credited to her earlier 
in this history, brought down a great basket from the attic, 
and dutifully went out to gather some few remaining grapes 
that had been left on the vines to ripen, or had been for- 
gotten by the gatherers, and about the safety of which her 
aunt had that morning expressed anxiety. She had no very 
definite idea how to reach that large proportion of them 
which grew above her head ; but she had an abounding faith 
in the efficacy of trying, and as the men were all busy, and 
Nattee had work enough for two days assigned her for that 
afternoon by the undying prejudice of her ancient foe and 
constant tyrant, old Salome, she determined to rescue some 
at least from the long delayed but surely impending black 
frost. 

The rough arbor over which the grape-vine climbed was 
on the southern exposure of the low hill upon which the 
house stood, and was a most sheltered, sunny spot. The 
trees around it had shed nearlv all their leaves, so tLat from 

286 



THE SUlHEBLAlilDS. 237 

the sitting-room window Mrs. Sutherland had seen Laura 
go down the path, and had defined her object. She could 
not see her when she reached the arbor, but she looked out 
for some minutes, and then said anxiously to Lawrence, who 
was doing a little after-dinner lounging, and was looking 
idjy out of the other window : 

"Lawrence, my son, won't you go and help your 
cousin ?" 

" Yes, mother," he cried, in a tone that would have been 
saucy if anybody else had used it, " I'll go and help my 
cousin." 

And taking up his cap, he sauntered out of the house and 
down the path that Laura had followed. Apparently, she 
had been soon discouraged with her task, or the sunniness 
and seclusion of the spot had seduced her into reveiy, for 
when Lawrence came in sight of her, the basket, with half 
a dozen purple bunches in it, stood at her feet, and leaning 
against the rough beam that supported the rustic frame- 
work, she was gazing absently before her, a broken branch 
of the grape-vine drooping from her hand, and the most 
far-off dreamy look in her eyes. The balminess of the 
autumnal noon, the hazy richness of the landscape, the 
perfect quiet of the hour, the impossibility of intruding 
eyes, seemed to have allured her into an indulgence very 
rare for her then. 

"What news from Canada, perhaps!" thought Law* 
rence. with a curl of the lip, as he approached her, and the 
rustle of the dead leaves beneath his unequivocal tread 
brought her back to reality with a violent start and blush. 

" My mother desired me to come out and help you," he 



238 THE SUTHEELAND8. 

said, pausing and leaning against the great locust-tree that 
stood on the other side of the path, and looking down at 
her with a composure that was much more becoming to him 
than reassuring to her. 

" My aunt is very kind," she said, trying, in a way that 
ought to have touched his heart, to regain her self-posses- 
eion. But it did not in the least have that effect. She had 
done too much to hurt his self-love to let liim pity her at all. 
He was glad to give her pain ; it was the best pleasure he 
had had for weeks to feel her at his mercy, to watch her 
fluttering color and pained eyes, to listen to the unsteadi- 
ness and faltering of her voice, and to know he had the 
power to make her feel anything. He had put to flight her 
douce reverie by his unwelcome presence ; he would do his 
rival this despite at least, he would drive him from her 
thoughts by whatever means he could, and for as long a 
time. 

" Why, no,'* he said, still looking at her, " I don't see 
that my mother is particularly kind. She knew you had 
undertaken what you couldn't do, I suppose, and wanted to 
help you and herself and the grapes out of the scrape." 

"T thought I could have reached them," said Laura, 
hurriedly, and with a most lamentable want of spirit. 

" Well, I must confess I don't see the ground you had 
for thinking so," he answered, moving toward the grape- 
vine. '* If you'll hold the basket for me, I'll be very much 
obliged to you." 

When Lawrence said a rude thing, he said it in a tone 
that made it for the moment not rude, 1: ut only lordly and 
unanswerable. It was impossible to be as angry with liim 



THE 8UTHEELANDS. 239 

as he deserved, till you were out of his presence and came 
to think it over. So Laura, like a very foolish, submissive 
girl, did as he desired, and held up the heavy basket with 
both hands. While he swung himself up the lattice, and 
deliberately pulled and threw down into it the bunches that 
had so long hung there lipening in the sun. Very delibe- 
rately, for he looked down through the twisted, gnarled 
old vine-stems and dry, yellowing grape-leaves, upon so 
ravishingly sweet a picture, that he wouldn't have been 
half a man if he had not used every honorable stratagem to 
keep it in his sight till he could keep it there no longer. If 
Laura's hair was crayony and shadowy when there was no 
sun upon it, it waked into soft golden lustre when there 
was, and her face was very far from cold and pale when 
that vivif}dng glory rested on it. The sunbeam that fell on 
it now seemed to go as deep through her transparent flesh 
as through an evening cloud, and to color it with as deli- 
cate a rose. Did it stain her eyes with a deeper violet, 
Lawrence could only wonder, for she never raised them to 
him. The loose sleeves fell back from her white arms, and 
he watched with a keen eye their increasing unsteadines? 
under the continued weight of the heavy basket they sup- 
ported. She shifted slightly the burden once or twice, but 
made no other sign of weariness or of impatience ; there 
was nothing but the throbbing of ^ose slender wrists by 
which he could mark the fleeting of these tempting mo- 
nients, the approaching end of this most selfish pleasure. 
How long could she stand it ? He moved slightly, anathe- 
matized the unsteadiness of his support, called Kelpie 
sharply off from a raid upon the chickens, commented care- 



240 THE BUTHEBLANDS. 

lessly upon the grapes as he threw them down into the 
basket, and kept a quiet eye upon the fluttering wrists. 

" Two minutes longer by the watch," he thought, " and 
not a second more." As nice a calculator as Larry was, 
however, he was destined to find himself in error on this 
one occasion. He had somewhat underrated the feminine 
power of endurance Laura, possessed, though he had not 
underrated her weakness. Of course he did not know how 
tired and faint she was, though he .did see her lips were 
growing pale, and that she pressed them tight together. 
Two minutes — honest long ones— three, four, five, and still 
she did not make a sign of giving up. " "What pluck, upon 
my soul I" he thought, in wonder. " How her arms must 
ache !" 

Yes, and there was not a nerve about her that did not 
ache. If Mr. Lawrence Sutherland had had to endure the 
same amount of pain, spread over the same length of time, 
he would have roused the family, thrown the kitchen into 
a panic, thundered at Nattee, agonized his mother, anathe- 
matized his fate, and shown, himself most manly in his 
entire behavior. 

But the impending crisis came at last. A sudden failure 
of the strained wrists, and down came basket and ripe 
grapes and all. A smothered ejaculation, that wasn't an 
execration, and wasn't a reproach, and yet was something 
that suggested both, ^ell from Lawrence's lips as he let 
himself down to the ground, and stooped over the basket 
to remedy the disaster. Laura was stooping over it too. 
Her cloak had fallen off her shoulders, and the bright coil 
of hair that was confined at the back of her head, had 



THE* gUTHEBLANDS. 241 

esc^iped from the comb, and slid down like a golden snako 
about her waist. The grapes lay scattered all over the 
ground, under the great plantain leaves and dead tufts of 
grass that grew about the place, their ripeness having 
proved a most "disastrous circumstance, for in the shock of 
the fall the bunches had nearly all dropped to pieces, and 
individual grapes were rolling down the hill and out of 
reach with maddening irregularity and rapidity. Laura 
stretched out her arms and grasped the nearest bunches, 
the few faithful among the faithless that had not broken 
into fragments, while Lawrence, stooping down two or 
three times to pick up what had proved but the skeleton 
forms of former fairness, at last gave one a contemptuous 
toss, exclaiming : 

" They're good for nothing ; there's not the slightest use 
in picking any of them up." 

Now Lawrence did not care a rush, at that moment, for 
all the grapes that ever had grown or ever might grow on 
the place, and it was an evidence of his great power of dis- 
simulation that he put into his voice such smothered vexa- 
tion as entu'ely overwhelmed his companion with despair. 
Her aunt's disappointment, Lawrence's vexation, her uncle's 
displeasure if ever he came to hear of it, the dejecting failure 
of all her efforts to be useful, in close conjunction with her 
nervousness and weariness, made her bury her face in her 
hands, and leaning down on the empty basket, burst into 
tears. Oh, but she was fair to see ! Of all the attitudes a 
woman's figure is capable of assuming, that abandoned, face- 
hidden, heart-broken one is the most distracting and insnar- 
ing, and Lawrence's face must have told he yielded to its. 

11 



242 THE SUTHEBLA l^D B . 

power, for Nattee, who had approached unnoticed, caught 
from its look the first tangible pang of acknowledged jea- 
lousy. 

Yes, whatever there was of shame or horror in the fact 
that she had dared to love her master, it came upon her 
fully for the first time then. How far her sin was born of 
the unconscious sins of others, how much or how little of it 
she would have to answer for herself, whether her hell 
ended, as it had begun, on earth, the records of a juster 
world alone can show. The justice and equity of this 
seemed ever strangely warped toward her ; her warm and 
generous life was but a tissue of errors, as involuntary as 
they were incapable of retraction ; her faithfulness and hum- 
bleness and ignorance were a threefold cord to drag Iier 
down^ the rash, unhappy love by which she found her soul 
usurped, had grown up without her suspicion and without 
her sanction. A child's ignorance of good and evil, and a 
woman's strength of passion, an aristocrat's acuteness of 
sensation, and a savage's restlessness of law — these made 
up a sort of character most unfitted to meet the world's 
contempt, and to feel, without revolting, its iron foot forever 
on her neck. A strange, distorted, misapprehended life 
poor Nattee's was shaping into ; one of those lives irhoso 
contemplation brings only this one hope, that " heaven holds 
the sequel." 

Lawrence gave an angry start when he caught sight of her. 

'' What brings you here ?" he demanded sharply. 

*' Mistress sent me for — ^her," she said with a gasping of 
the breath as she reached but could not master Laura's 
name : " there's some one come to see her." And following 



THE SUTHEULANDS^ 243 

"her slight gesture he looked toward the house, and saw 
that Cieily and Katrina van Hansen were even then coming 
down the path. 

"Laura," he said quickly, going forward to intercept 
them, " here are the Van Hausens come to see you." 

And while Lawrence met them half way from the house, 
and cleverly prevented their further progress toward the 
object of their pursuit, the object of their pursuit, springing 
up, glanced anxiously round for some way of retreat. She 
was too much engrossed with her own distress to notice 
the change in Nattee's face ; she only exclaimed, hurrying 
toward the hedge of lilacs at the left, "Pick up those 
things, Nattee, and take them to the house," while she 
made the best of her way there herself, to slip up by a side 
door to her room, and bathe her face and smooth hei hair 
before she was subjected to Cieily 's sharp eyes. 

Nattee sunk down on the ground as her young mistress 
disappeared among the lilacs, and rested her clenched 
hands upon the empty basket. Yes, that was the way 
always. Nattee must do the work. Miss Laura must have 
the pleasure. Miss Laura had come out to play at gather- 
ing grapes, Master Larry had come out to help her ; they 
had wasted all their time and made all this trouble, and 
then turned their backs upon it, and ordered Nattee to 
do all their woik and undo all their mischief. This was 
like the Christianity Master Warren preached about, for 
Master Larry to say, " What brings you here ?" as if it 
hurt him to speak to her at all, and for Miss Laura to cry, 
"Pick them things up, Nattee," as if she spoke to Kelpie I 
This wasn't what she had hoped for when the young 



244 THE 8UTHEBLAND8. 

lady first arrived, to be turned away from waiting on her 
and walking with her, to give place to stupid little Steady ; 
slow and stupid little Steady, who was always put before 
her, who ate at a table by herself and slept in a room by 
herself, because she was a white man's child. 

Oh, there was nothing left for Nattee but hard words, 
hard work, hard wishes. And it had come of this new cou- 
sin, that they were all turned against her. Had it ever 
been so before she came ? Had Master Larry ever given 
ner an unkind word before his English cousin stole his 
heart ? Had he not always been kind and gentle to her, 
and praised her to his mother, and taken her part against his 
father ? Yes, yes ; all the change had come since she had 
come ; how different eveiything had been since that evening 
she had ridden Grey Dirck up from the meadow and found 
the strangers' wagon waiting at the gate. Oh, that sweet 
evening I How often had she lived it over, how tho- 
roughly she knew by heart each careless word her master 
had spoken at that careless time ; the scent of the white 
clover, as Dirck trampled it under his heavy hoofs, the 
plashing of the water as they crossed the creek, the fading 
of the sunset, the faint, chilly damp of the coming evening ; 
how few kind memories poor Nattee must have had, to 
have cherished these so sacredly ! 

They were enough, at that dark moment, to fill her eyes 
with tears and to soften into more than forgiveness the 
momentary resentment that her master's harshness had 
aroused. It was not his fault ; he did not do it of himself ; 
his cousin it was who had turned him into what he was 
and she hated her — she hated her ! 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 245 

Aud Nattee rose and went about the work that had been 
left for her to do, with eyes not far off and dreamy, aa 
Laura's eyes had been when she first went about it, but 
dark and eager with a restlessness kmdled at the forbidden 
fire within. 



CHAPTER XVI 

TABES. • 

** Invidia festos dies non agit.*' 

" Nattek," said Mrs. Sutherland, hurrying into the 
kitchen, " where have you been all this time ? Your after- 
noon's work is hardly begun. Everything's lying about just 
as it was an hour ago, and here's company coming to supper ; 
biscuit to be set, pancakes to be made, the silver to be 
rubbed, eggs to be looked up, the best room to be opened, 
the andirons to be polished, a fire to be lit, and yourself to 
be made tidy to serve. I don't know what's the matter 
with you now-a-days, Nattee, you want looking after like a 
chUd." 

Nattee did not raise her eyes to her mistress' face ; she 
bent them on her work, and muttered between her teeth, 
" I'm not the only one needs looking after, though I'm the 
only one's to get it, in this house, it seems." 

" Nattee !" exclaimed Mrs. Sutherland, looking at her in 
astonishment, for this was the first word of disrespect or 
impatience she had ever heard from her. She had not 
time to investigate its cause, though, for this impromptu 
supper party held out a bewildering prospect for the after- 
noon. Cicily and her sister had come for Laura to join 
them in a chestnutting expedition into the woods, where 
they were to meet half a dozen more of the flower of the 



THE 8UTHEELANDB. S^47 

coantry-side, and Lawrence had proposed thoy all should re 
turn to the farm to supper. Suddener calls upon her hospi 
tality had often occurred, and the old stone house had been 
the scene of much livelier preparations on many former 
occasions. But there was, besides the strain upon the good 
mother's energy and ingenuity, an abiding vexation and 
anxiety that she could not shake off in Cicily van Han- 
sen's presence ; her confident coquetry, her inaupportable 
appropriation of Lawrence's attention, her unmistakable 
consciousness and satisfaction, were as irritating and 
exasperating to the gentle lady, as they were captivating 
and acceptable to her double-minded son. That he had 
not quite made up his mind about her, Mrs. Sutherland 
had latterly begun to hope ; his evening absences had 
become somewhat less a habit, and his interest in things 
at home had seemed a little to revive; but her hopes were 
destined to receive a check. Lawrence's manner, when 
they met that afternoon, had a familiarity that startled and 
a devotion that alarmed her. It could not be, the relaxing 
of his assiduity of late meant he had good reason to be 
at case ; that it was all understood between them, and he 
had no suit to push, for all the suit he had was settled I 
If it were so, she could not blame him that he had not 
asked her sanction ; she had never made a secret of her 
disapproval ; she could not blame him, but it was a wound 
she hardly had strength to bear. 

'* 'Tis nature's law." Mothers should hold that cross 
before their eyes till they grew familiar with it, they 
should put it between themselves and their too lavish love 
from the time that love commences ; they should reu^ember 



24:8 THE 8 U T H E K L A N D 8 

what a mother's love must be at best. All children thai 
fulnll their destiny, must, in that regard, be thankless. 
Love goes forward and not backward: the gentlest son 
that lives, cannot separate himself from his mother's heart, 
and acknowledge there is another life before him filled with 
another love, without convulsing bitterly the heart he 
leaves. He may, by years of dutiful affection, soften the 
separation he has created, and comfort the desolation he 
has made ; but it never ceases, for all that, to bo a separa* 
tion and a desolation. 

There was a little flush on her mistress' cheek, and a 
little tremor in her voice, that Nattee did not interpret 
rightly ; and though thert, existed no actual impatience in 
her manner, there was less of gentleness than ordinary in 
it, when she gave her orders for the afternoon, and 
Nattee's smothered jealousy was not slow in taking fire. 
It was, indeed, anything but a sweet thought to her, as she 
hurried through her trebled work that afternoon, with the 
new sense of her mistress' injustice irritating her at every 
fresh command, that Laura was sauntering idly through 
the autumn woods, and that Steady was following in meek 
enjoyment of her liberty. 

But hard work takes the edge off even such discontent 
as this, and by the time the house was ready for the arrival 
of the guests, Nattee was in a much more reasonable 
frame of mind. The best parlor, dusted and in order, 
looked bright and cheery with its new-kindled fire, the 
supper table was shining with its best phase of china 
and of silver, Salome, hoarse with scolding, was serving 
out their supper to the men, Mrs. Sutherland, in her best 



THK SCTTHEELANDS 249 

black satin gown, was giving her last anxious re^'iew to 
the ranks of sweetmeats, cakes, and biscuits, before the 
approaching action, when it occurred suddenly to her 
mind, she must have another jug of cream for the west 
end of the table. The churning in the morning had left 
them but a scant supply for such an increased demand ; she 
should have to send over to neighbor Vandervleock's to 
borrow some for the occasion. Nattee, very trim and tidy, 
was leaning ag^nst the dooi*post, looking toward the gate, 
momentarily expecting the arrival of the party from the 
woods. 

"Natleo," called out her mistress, "nin out into the 
kitchen, and tell Amen I want him to do an errand for 
me." 

But by the time Nattee reached the kitchen. Amen, who 
always fled ** like withered leaves before the autumn gale," 
at the dii^tantest echo of the word " errand," had eluded all 
pursuit, and was swinging from the top branch of the 
elm behind the house before the sentence was well out of 
his mistress' mouth. After a fruitless search for him, 
Nattee came back, breathless and indignant, to the sitting' 
room. 

" That whelp's up i' the mow, or down i' the cellar, or 
somewhere safe, ma'am. He shot out o' the kitchen when 
he heard me coming, and I can't find him high or low.'* 

" Well, Nattee, then you'll have to run for me yourself; 

am sure you can get back before they come. Ask Vrow 
^andervleeck for a jugful of sweet cream for me, if she'a 
got it to spare, and don't waste a minute on the way." 

It was already five o'clo3k, and the brief November day 

11* 



250 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

was very near its close ; the hungry pleasure-seekers no 
doubt would soon be home, and it behooved Nattee, as a 
faithful caterer to their tastes, to make all convenient 
speed in the execution of her errand. But Nattee did not 
seem to view it so ; an unusual want of ze^l characterized 
her every movement, the chilly evening air inspired her 
with no briskness, it only made her pull her shawl tighter 
round her, and sent a shiver through her frame as she 
loitered along toward the house of the ,Vrow Vander- 
vleeck. It was not a short walk by any means : " field 
and fountain, moor and mountain," almost every conceiva- 
ble natural feature intervened between these two neigh- 
bors — features in miniature to be sure, but still weary 
enough to traverse at the end of a long day's work, and 
against a rebellious and discontented will. 

" I don't care if I am late !" she thought, as she crept 
tnrough a gap in the hedge on the outskirts of the Vander- 
vleeck farm. " I wish I may keep 'em waiting. I hope 
they'll all be tireder than I am, and twice as hungry before 
they get their supper." 

There was every prospect of their being, as the serving 
of supper depended in a measure on Nattee's presence, 
and she took a malicious pleasure in reflecting how much 
of the comfort of the family was in her liands. How they 
would miss her, if she should choose to run away. Who, 
uince she had been tall enough to reach it, had ever set 
the table there? What a hand Steady would make in 
waitmg on it I The oaths and scowls the old man would 
give her before she got broken in ! Nobody but Nattee 
knew the places of things in Master Larry's room ; nobody 



THE SVTHEBLANDS. 251 

but Nattee had ever kept his clothes in order. He never 
knew where a thing was himself, he couldn't find anything 

* 

without calling out for her ; she did more than he knew 
to maintain his comfort and to keep him in good tem- 
per. 

" Perhaps," thought Nattee, with a gleam of triumph, 
" he*ll begin to think of it if I go away : perhaps he'll want 
me back." 

Just before Nattee reached Cuyler Vandervleeck's house, 
she passed a low log cabin, standing dogmatically up to the 
road, without the ceremony of a fence before it, and with 
a most uncompromising squareness and harshness about its 
rough exterior. Nattee was so absorbed with her own 
thoughts, she did not look around at it as she passed, till 
startled by a solemn " hem," and, glancing up, she saw the 
Methodist preacher sitting in the door, with his stick 
between his knees, and his chin on his stick. She 
dropped a courtesy and was passing on, when he called 
her back. She approached without any reluctance, for 
there was something that promised well in his tone. He 
wasn't going to order her aroimd, it was evident. Perhaps 
he was going to tell her something that she'd like to hear, 
for it was whispered about among the slaves that the 
preacher called himself their friend. 

" Well, my girl," he began abruptly, " so you liked the 
young man's sermon yesterday ? I noted ye ; I saw ye 
had hard work to keep from cryin' out before 'em all. I 
saw how the good news of God was news to your poor 
goul. I saw how *hat de'il incarnate, that calls himself yer 
master, had been staiTin' and freezin' it, till it was faiu 



252 THS SUTHEliLANDS. 

to fill itself with even the husks the old-country swine 
devour. I saw ye was just ready fyr God's grace, and I 
was glad the minister put in the sickle. I was glad to see 
ye coming to be numbered among the Lord's people, no 
matter who called ye to come. The young man means 
well ; he lives to show that even out o' Nazereth somethin' 
good can sometimes come. I suppose he has been folio win* 
up his victory, and has been praying with ye and exhorting 
of ye, through the day ?" 

Now Nattee, beyond feeling vaguely tmsettled and 
wretched after the service yesterday, had not experienced 
any particular emotions of repentance that she could 
remember. The Egyptian darkness of a whole lifetime had 
not lifted jsit once. There is darkness in the dawn ; and 
though a better day might be at hand, it was breaking 
slowly and chillily. She knew she had been wickeder this 
very day than she had ever been before in her life, and she 
was very much alarmed at what the parson said. She 
hadn't known that crying when Mr. Warren preached 
about heaven and forgiveness, committed her in any way ; 
she hadn't had the least idea of numbering herself with the 
Lord's people, or doing anything different from ordinary', 
and she was very much embarrassed at the inference 
Mr. Pound had seemed to draw. 

The idea of Mr. "Warren praying with her and exhorting 
her, threw her into a cold perspiration. She wouldn't go 
to the chapel, if there was any danger of that. She was 
unspeakably afraid'^of being talked to about her sou!, as all 
ignorant, sensitive, imaginative people are, and the wise 
young minister would no more have thought of doing it 



THE 8UTHEBLAND8 263 

than he would have thought of tearing open the petals of a 
wild rose, ta let the light reach its heart. The light, he 
wisely thought, was strong enough to do its own work on 
the flower. So it happened, that while he often talked 
with Rube in a way that would have done Pertinax's heart 
good, and not unfrequently, as occasion offered, " exhorted*' 
the careless younger men about the farm, he never had 
spoken a word individually to Nattee about the matters of 
her soul, and did not mean to either, till the time should 
come. She interested him far more than any of the others 
did, not excepting Steady, even, and perhaps, if he had 
allowed himself to think of those tlungs, she moved his pity 
so, he would have found it in his heart to wish that that 
childlike, darkened, blundering, misread soul might be the 
first fruits of his ministry, might be the first jewel of the 
crown laid up for him. He had not overlooked the tears 
that his reverend rival built such hopes upon ; possibly the 
sight of them had helped to make that day the much-to-be- 
remembered day it was ; but it was very distant irom his 
purpose to let the poor captive soul find out it was so 
closely watched and its throes so rigorously counted. 
Young as he was, he had divine and human wisdom 
enough to recognize the folly of such a course, the unheal- 
thiness of a forced and fostered penitence, the unreliableness 
of a conversion having its foundation in excited feeling ; he 
was perfectly aware of the incompetency of man to perfoim 
God's work, and. "he let that alone forever.*' He knew 
his own part, and he did not spare himself in the perform- 
ing of it ; but within his own part, his reverence, his fine 
sense of right restricted him. He did not aUow himself to 



254 THE SUTHFBLA.NDA 

think how many he should tuni to righteousness, how 
many he might be the means of bringing to the truth ; it 
was for the Lord of the harvest to count the sheaves, and 
accord him his reward ; it was for him to do all the work 
he could before the evening fell. 

Perhaps it was well for his continued patience that he 
did not see the tares that his enemy was sowing in poor 
Nattee's mind that night. She had approached the cot- 
tage-door in a frame of mind that was innocence and 
safety compared with the state of mind in which she left it : 
she had been vaguely rebellious and unhappy when she 
came ; her new teacher gave her a reason for her rebellion, 
and helped her to understand its nature ; he dignified her 
unhappiness, roused her self-consciousness, excited her 
sensibilities. Circumstances seemed to favor him as much 
as they seemed disposed to thwart his brother minister. 
Here was this girl, just dropping into bis mouth, as it were, 
at the very moment he was thinking about her — ^here she 
was, fresh from" a recent humiliation, the woi-st a human 
heart knows anything about, bleeding from new wounds, 
stinging with fresh smarts ; what time could have been 
happier for the purpose of turning her as he wished ; what 
moment more auspicious for the planting of the word 
he wished her to believe. She would have blessed any 
hand that had ministered to her then, she would have bent 
to any will that would lead her away from where sh 
stood. 

And as if still further to aid the wrong-minded teacher, 
while she was listening with newly roused interest and 
itartled wonder to his perverted piety and unsettling pity, 



THJC 8UTHERLANDS. 255 

there came a sound of voices from the woods beyond; 
voices of careless loiterers, merry pleasure-seekers— and 
such voices will always grate on the ears of heavy plodders, 
weary laborers. The preacher saw the start she gave, and 
the pained contraction of her face, and h^ did not fail to 
follow up the train of thought that it suggested to him. 
She was standing on the door-step, and he offered no 
remark as she shrank out of sight behind the door-post 
while the merry-makers passed below them. 

"Ha! Good evening to you, Mister Pound," cried 
Lawrence's fine voice. "You seem to be playing at 
solitary still." 

" What luck have you had in your nutting ?" said the 
preacher, looking down solemnly and thoughtfully at the 
group who halted before the door. 

" Rather indifferent luck," returned Lawrence, holding 
up a half-filled basket. " We haven't turned up many 
trumps to be sure, but then we've made the game all the 
more profitable by our judicious reception of adversity; 
sweet are its uses." 

" Ah !" ejaculated the preacher, sniffing contemptuously. 

" You don't think so now ?*' cried Lawrence, putting his 
handsome head on one. side with an argumentative pose. 
" You don't think a game of cards or a chestnutting excur- 
sion may be turned to great account - in the improvement 
of" 

" Oh, don't now !" cried Cicily, pertly, moving on. 
* Don^t get into a discussion. I'm for discussing supper, 
I vote we go home." 

" Yes, yes," cried Nick van Vechten, joining her ** I 



256 IHfi SUTHESLANDS. 

don't believe anybody but Larry cares for preaching mow. 
It's growing dark: we'll leave him to settle it with tho 
parson about the uses of adversity and cards." 

Cicily, who couldn't bear Lawrence to talk to anybody 
but herself, and^ who had so little real love for him 
that she had no pride in his cleverness, walked on with 
Nick, casting back at him a very disdainful and missish 
look, while, with a straggling, undemonstrative good night, 
the rest of the party moved on after them. Laura was the 
last, for Steady had had the misfortune to drop her basket 
of chestnuts (by far the fullest in the company), and her 
mistress was trying to help her pick them up. But it was 
rather too dark, and they were in rather too scattered a 
state to afford her much hope of success ; the shiny, bro\\Ti 
things had hid themselves in grass and sand beyond mortal 
ken and human fingers' reach, and Steady was just trem- 
bling on the verge of a downright cry, when Lawrence, 
strangling his argument with the preacher in its sweet 
infancy, seeing the state of things, started forward, saying : 

"What's amiss, little woman? Lost your chestnuts? 
Well, I think it's rather lucky ; I'm so tired of mine, I'll 
give 'em to you to get rid of 'em. Come, pick yourself up 
and don't care anything about the rest," he continued, lift- 
ing her up and pouring the contents of his basket into hers. 
" There ! it's all right now ; brush the sand off your apron 
nd run on. Don't let the others get out of sight of us. 
You had better let me carry that shawl for you if you aie 
not going to put it on, Laura," he continued, in a grave, 
quiet tone, most new and unlooked for in him. 

" Thank you," Nattee heard Laura say, faintly, as they 



•SHE 8UTHERLANDS. 267 

turned away, and those low, mingling voices rung in her 
ears with anything but low and quiet music, till dispelled 
by the rough growl of her forgotten host. 

" A hot-headed, high-strung, unconquered dog !" he mut- 
tered, "A rebellious fellow, a thorn in the side of piety 
and decency. I'll e'en teach him what it is to thrust his 
jokes at Parson Pertinax; I'll show him what comes of 
throwing his dice and counters always in my face ; I'll 
magnify mine office till he learns to respect it, too ; I'll 
teach the young dog manners, that I wilL'* He caught 
Nattee's uncomfortable eyes upon him, and he added : 
" Aye, girl, that's what I'U do for that precious young Hot- 
spur that's just gone down the road, and there's more than 
you might thank me if I put him to the blush for once. He 
shall be sorry for this, you. shall see, my girl. He shall 
be sorry for his overbearing ways wi' me, as well as his 
wicked ways wi' you and wi' all that are oppressed and 
down-trodden. He's a tyrant, and he shall reap a tyrant's 
reward — he shall " 

" Master Larry don't mean to be ugly," faltered Nattee , 
" He's only got that sort o* way sometimes — ^he's always 
been good to me till — till — ^lately." 

" Ha !" said Pertinax, turning his keen grey eye upon 
her, and scenting afar the secret of her sofl-heartedness. 
*' Ha ! he's always been good to you, you say ?" 

" Always," returned Nattee, eagerly. " He's never said 
an ugly word to me till now of late." 

" And why should he be ugly to you, I should like to 
know ? Why shouldn't he speak as kind to you as ho does 
to that pert young minx who flaunts her black eyes and 



258 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

her red cheeks i' the face o' decenter and better people ? 
Why ain't Christian folk as well set to work talkin' to you 
as to that bold-faced Jezebel ? She shames her honest old 
father and her sober Dutch blood by her unseemly vanity • 
and I never heard it said as yet that half-breed Nattee 
wasn't as modest and as decent a young wench as any in 
the country. If I had a daughter, I'd rather she'd a black 
skin than a black heart, and nobody that's out o' long 
clothes can doubt the complexion o' Cicily van Hansen's 
heart, after a look into her eyes." 

" Oh," cried Nattee, " Master Larry knows that as well 
as you. Master Larry's safe enough from Cicily van Hau- 
senu It isn't her, I know Master Larry well enough to 
know he's tired o' her a month ago, and wishes he'd never 
seen her. Oh, it isn't Aer.'^ 

" Who is it, then ? The cousin, I suppose. Ah, well, 
she's a sweet young gentlewoman, and may do him good." 

" She do him good !" exclaimed Nattee, speaking thick 
and quick. " She's turned him into what he is — she's 
false — she's worse'n Cicily van Hansen. She's made 'em 
all ugly to me. Oh, I wish she was away !" 

And Nattee turned her face to the wall with a miserable 
groan. 

" Hist I" said the preacher, thoughtfully ; " maybe you're 
mistaken; maybe she's only thoughtless; she don't look 
like a haughty lady. Are you sure she's ugly to you ?" 

" She's turned 'em all against me — she's tunied Mastef 
Larry against me," groaned poor Nattee, leaning her head 
against the doorpost and beating with her foot upon the 
floor. 



THE SUTHEBLAND8. 259 

The great-hearted old man looked at her compassionately 
and read her story through at a glance. He saw how 
ho,peless and how fatal was the snare into which she had 
innocently fallen ; he saw what a dreadful life lay before 
her in any event. His sympathies were strong, his dis- 
cernment quick ; his heart ached for Nattee as if she had 
been his child, and in her wrong he saw the wrongs of her 
whole class. He burned to avenge her misery on those 
who had inflicted it ; in his overweening pity for her, he 
never doubted that the wrong, at least on the young man's 
part, had been intentional. Those proud, stiff-necked 
Sutherlands had always withstood and galled him, the 
spirit and the flesh both sanctioned his opposing them. 
Nattee did not guess the depth of feeling from which his 
counsel came ; she only knew he was good and was sorry 
for her, and never guessing she had betrayed her secret to 
him, hardly knowing she had a secret to betray, she lis- 
tened to his sympathy and eagerly drank in its dangerous 
suggestions. 

He talked to her of the matters of her soul, too, and 
exhorted and prayed with her, and she listened, with a 
tempest of strange emotions swelling in her heart, and with 
such bewildered excitement of brain, that when she started 
out on the now dark road home, she could remember 
nothing of his words, and only was tangibly richer in dis- 
content. She had promised to come again to-morrow even 
jng and listen to her new teacher, and though she did not 
know why it was wrong and why she ought to feel ashamed 
of it, she certainly did feel it was wrong and was ashamed 
of it. She had such a guilty dread of meeting her mis- 



260 THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 

tress again, that only a superstitious dread of the darkness 
pushed her forward. Fiery eyes glared at her from every 
bush, and pricked her on till, breathless and exhausted, she 
reached the farm-yard gate. She lingered for a moment 
in the shadow of the barn, looking with dread at the kindly 
lights that shone from the narrow, deep windows of the 
house, now all ablaze with hospitality ; she knew the wrath 
that they portended for her ; coward flesh and blood 
began to shiink at the thought of the rough old man within 
kept supperless so long. Ah, there he came ; the kitchen 
door opened suddenly and fell shut with an ill-tempered 
bang. Nattee turned to fly, but Amen dropped from the 
clouds above, or emerged from the bowels of the earth, and 
grasped her wrist. 

" Here she is, massa," he cried^ leading her toward old 
Ralph. "I've most run off mj legs looking for her. I 
brought her all the way from Vrow \*andervleeck's orchard 
ahold of her han' here. I guess she'll get enough o' playin' 
hookie afore she's through." 

The cruel old man's cruel lash wa«? never laid on more 
unresisting shoulders. Not a cry escaped her, not a strug- 
gle showed her suffering ; but her master felt a du!? pre- 
sentiment, as he caught a glimpse of her face by th*, light 
from the kitchen door, that he had waked » 4^^ uito 
being that might give him trouble in the end 



CHAPTER XVn. 

CICILY VAN HAUSBN, 

' Wed not one woman, my son, 
Because you love another one ! 
Oft with a disappointed man, 
The first who cares to win him can." 

CoVKNTRf FaTMORE. 

" CiciLT*s too tired to dance," cried Lawrence, as they 
left the supper-table, and crossed the darkish chilly hall 
toward the shining open door of the " best room." 

"Oh, yes, Cicily's too tired — Cicily never wants to 
dance," cried that young person, looking archly back at 
him. She was so glad to be free from the restraint 
imposed by the presence of her elders, left now snugly in 
the sitting-room, that she danced across to the fireplace, 
with a reckless disregard of public opinion and common 
politeness. 

*' Cicily I" expostulated Katrina the thrifty, with a rum- 
bling rebuke in Low Dutch. 

" Katrina !" retorted Cicily the saucy, with a spluttering 
blaze of defiance in the same tongue. 

"Bravo!" cried Lawrence the lawless, with a merry 
English laugh. " Cicily, you shall dance, parson or no 
parson." 

" Oh," cried Miss Cicily, melting down into great humil- 
ity, as she glanced at Warren, " I am sure, sir, Lawrence is 

Ml 



"262 THE BTJTHEBLANDS. 

mistaken if he thinks I can't be happy without dancing — ^1 
don't want to dance at all." 

*' I am very sorry to doubt your sincerity, Miss Cicily," 

replied Warren, with an amused smile. " But it strikes me 

you want to dance very much. Your eyes have opened the 

ball already, and it w4ll give me great pleasure to know 

ou mean to follow their lead." 

"You don't really think dancing's wicked, then?" she 
asked in a very deferential tone. 

" Oh, no ; I used to think it very pleasant," he returned. 

" I have never had any scruples on the subject ; but if 
you have had, pray do not understand I mean to undennine 
them." 

"7" don't think it's wrong, of course, Mr. Sutherland. It's 
only the strait-laced people that follow Dominie van der 
Spiegle and Parson Pound that do. I*m sure JT think it's 
the nicest thing in the world." 

She quite turned her back upon Lawrence and the rest 
of the group, and devoted her eyes and all her available 
powers to the captivation of the clergyman, who, if the 
tl'uth must be told, was a subject fully requiring them all. 
He was just handsome enough, too, to excite her admira- 
tion, aristocratic and refined-looking to a degree that pow- 
erfully excited her ambition, stimulated but not satisfied 
with its rustic conquests, and indifierent and cool to an 
extreme that much exasperated her inherent coquetry, not 
yet quite exorcised by the " emotion " that was supposed to 
have usurped her soul. But her touching humility, her 
flattering deference, though a very pretty dtudy for the 
moment, were thrown away upon the clear-gighttd yonns 



THE STJTHERLANDS. 263 

divine. To him she was a gaudy transparency ; he saw the 
blank canvas on the reverse side, and the glaring light of 
vanity within that illuminated the brilliant picture , and he 
caught himself wondering, with a shudder, how Lawrence 
came to be so blind. Then, as he glanced again at her 
piquant face and flashing eyes, the wonder changed, not 
that Lawrence should be so unwise, but that he himself 
should be so overwige. 

" Heaven send, my cousin's heart's not in this girl's keep- 
ing!" he ejaculated, as he watched her wonderful hypo- 
' cnsy. 

" Heaven help us ! If Warren isn't making love to the 
Van Hausen !" ejaculated Lawrence, coming up to end the 
t^te-drt^te. " Cicily, Dave's waiting for your orders : shall 
we have a reel ?" 

" Oh, 7" don't know anything about it— don't ask me," 
with a flattering look at Warren. 

" Well, you may be sure I won't, then," thought Law- 
rence, turning on his heel. " Come, Dave, stop that vile 
scraping ; strike up the ' Blue Bells,' and do your bravest. 
Nick, Katrina I know'll accept you; the others are all 
partnered, I believe. Are we ready? Laura, will you 
dance with me ?" 

And so it transpired that, much to her chagrin, Cicily 
was left out in the cold, without even Warren to console 
her ; for, at the first sound of the negro's fiddle, the young 
minister had vanished. Whether the familiar dancing-tune 
was unbearable in the recollections it suggested, or whether 
he was unwilling to give any ofience to his dissenting 
brethren that could possibly be avoided, or whether be was 



264 THE S U T ll.E B L A N D S . 

tired of an uncongenial scene and retired willingly to hia 
quiet books and faithful lamp, Cicily never knew, and Law- 
rence never cared to know. It sufficed for that young 
autocrat's enjoyment to see his dissembling inamorata 
biting her lips with sheer vexation at the fireside, while the 
hearty rustics and the blooming lassies who composed the 
set, throwing themselves wholly on Dave's mercy, bowed, 
and bent, and turned, and twisted, galloped and chasseed, in 
unquestioning obedience to his enthusiastic music. Laura, 
after one bewildered look, regained her self-possession and 
endeavored to conform. 

" No fine-lady airs to-night," thought Lawrence, watch- 
ing closely every movement. No, there was nothing to 
complain of in her ; she could not help looking as exquisite 
and refined as her companions looked blooming and hoy- 
denish ; she had dressed herself 



'» • 



" With care and cost, all tempting, fine, and gaj, 

only to do honor to her aunt's young guests, and without a 
thought of vanity. She seemed only bent on pleasing 
them, and doing nothing to displease her cousin. And her 
cousin's jealous indignation certainly did not appear as 
ready to take fire as usual on this evening; his manner 
since the noonday crisis had been graver, and quieter, and 
kinder than of late. Her full toilet became her so ex- 
tremely, he could not choose but look at her occasionally ; 
and Cicily, gazing surreptitiously at them from her lonely 
corner, raged with jealousy at her unconscious beauty, and 
his too conscious notice of it. 

There was a moment's lull in the dancing ; Laura and 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 265 

Lawrence, standing at the head of the room, were waiting 
for Dave, who was gathering himself up for a new figm*e ; 
Laura's band was in Lawrence's, and a pretty look of 
expectation and just-readiness was parting her lips, when 
there was a slight shuffle of feet and murmur of voices 
outside ; the door suddenly opened, and Nattee came into 
the room. 

"Here's a gentleman," she said, "asking to see the 
master of the house. Master Larry, can you speak to 
him ?" 

Dave's bow hung suspended in his uplifted hand, the 
envy died out of Gicily's eyes, and curiosity assumed its 
place. Nick forgot Katrina, Katrina forgot Nick, and all 
forgot the dance ; every face turned to the door, " as sun- 
flowers to the sun." 

But Lawrence's was quickly turned back again to his 
partner's after the first sharp glance at the new»comer ; she 
had forgotten the hand that lay in his, and he felt the start 
and flutter that passed through it as she recognized the 
stranger. The first moment, 

" She went red as any rose, then pale as any lily ;" 

her lips parted as if to speak, then closed as if in pain ; 
and La wren ie had to see it all ! 

The stranger was now within the room, and gazed about 
him with the bewildered look of a night-overtaken traveller 
thrust suddenly into a blaze of light and festive gaiety. 
He raised his hands from the folds of the military cloak that 
hung about him, and lifted his travelling-cap respectfully, 
then seemed to seek among the dancers for one who should 



266 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

claiia to be the master of the house. Lawrence made a 
movement forward, and the stranger's eye that instant feL 
upon the lady at his side. If his look had been one of 
bewilderment before, it was one of wild incredulity and 
confused nightmare now. He gave a start, passed his hand 
across his eyes as if to reassure himself of the actuality ol 
their vision, advanced a few steps and said, " It cannot be 
— Miss Sutherland !'* 

Laura's breath came rather quickly as she faltered* 
" Captain Lacy — ^I am so surprised !" 

He murmured something inaudible even to Larry's atten- 
tive ear as he bent over her hand, something to which her 
only answer was a devouring blush and suddenly abased 
eyes. She almost recovered self-possession, thoiigh, as she 
presented the stranger to her cousin ; there was something 
in Larry's manner so matter-of-fact and straightforward, 
that it very much recalled her to her senses. Tliis wi\s not 
dreaming after all, misty and unreal as it seemed: there 
was Lawrence, looking quite as tall and very much stiffer 
and manlier than usual, making the guest welcome to his 
fathei-'s house, and that guest, unconquerable petit mattre 
and thorough fine gentleman as he was, through all his 
hardships and fatigues, was no other than the man of whom 
she had dreamed so long and for whom she had shed such 
Ditter tears and sighed such weary sighs. It was like 
waking from a strange and extravagant dream, and findin|> 
its dramatis personce standing coolly and dispassionately by 
your bedside, clothed in flesh and blood. 

It did not take Captain Lacy many minutes to explain 
the chance that had thrown him upon Mr. Sutherland's 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 267 

Hospitality. A hurried journey to New York, on matters 
of importance, undertaken without a guide and with no 
companion but his African attendant, had resulted, vei7 
naturally, in a most adventurous and uncomfortable man- 
ner. They had lost their Avay through the false counsels of 
a self-appointed Indian guide ; they had on every occasion 
taken the most circuitous route to reach the nearest point ; 
they had marched and counter-marched, forded creeks, 
labored through thickets, plodded through marshes, spent 
nights in the open air and days in the open country, and 
DOW, at the end of a hard-spent month, they found them- 
selves very far from their journey's end, and very much 
bewildered as to their whereabouts and general sur- 
roundings. 

" I hope," Lawrence said, with very magnificent courtesy 
as he paused, "that your troubles have ended here. I 
trust it will be in my power, after a few days of rest, to 
furnish you with a guide and letters that may render the 
remainder of your journey easy." 

" The trials of a journey that brought me to your house, 
sir, would be insignificant if they were thrice the trials that 
I have just endured," 

And Lawrence did not doubt at all his sincerity, follow- 
m^ his glance to Laura's lovely face. A man might well 
consider himself repaid for a month of worse travelling 
than this, to stumble upon "the girl for whom his heart 
was sick," and to find her gracious and beautiful as ever, 
and capable of such intoxicating blushes on his accounts 
Larry, possibly, two months ago, would have doubled 
Cape Hom or attempted in good heart the Northwest 



2G$ THE 8VTHEBLAJSD8. 

Passage for half the remuneration. But let bygones be 
bygones. 

The festivities of the evening suffered a serious interrup- 
tion in consequence of the arrival of Captain Lacy and 
ejuite. Lawrence, on hospitable cares intent, was absent for 
Bome time, accompanying him to his room, and leaving his 
guests to the care of his young cousin, who for obvious 
reasons was a very unfit person to leave them with just 
now. She tried most heroically to forget who was iu the 
house, and what had happened, but her efforts were 
crowned with very indifferent success. In the midst of the 
Dutch girls' " drowsy frowsy " talking, she found herself 
looking absent and uninterested, and she found too that 
Cicily was making a note of the circumstance, and in her 
extreme haste to get back into the subject discussed, she 
stumbled and blundered and got quite entangled in inaccu- 
racies. Nobody seemed in the humor for dancing tUl the 
gentlemen should come back ; indeed, the music had gone 
off to the barn to make acquaintance with the captain's 
suite, so it was a happy circumstance that the visitors did 
not care to dance. They lounged around rather uncomfort- 
ably, with the ill-at-ease look of people who are not. much 
used to having their limbs and their time unoccupied ; and 
poor Laura felt as if she were personally responsible for the 
heavy hanging of both. Nick and Katrina ate apples and 
whispered in a corner, and Laura wished from her soul 
they'd all eat apples and whisper in corners; but the 
others were of that loggy, unmanageable manner of guest 
that lies back to be entertained, and only goes when 
it is wound up to a game or a dance by the indus- 



T U £ SLTBESLANDB. ' 269 

trious 3iitertainer, and stops with a click when the 
music or the game does. Cicily was in a most vicious 
temper, and would have spoiled the pleasure of a much 
more harmonious and convivial circle. Laura's pretty, 
timid effbi-ts to conciliate her were quite unfortunate in 
their effects ; instead of soothing they seemed to exasperate 
her, and comparative amiability only returned when the 
door opened and the reentrance of Lawrence and his 
visitor, accompanied by Dave, proclaimed the resumption 
ol festivities. 

Cicily's eyes fairly danced at the sight of the red coat 
and gold lace of tfie stranger ; she almost forgave him for 
staying away so long, and keeping LaAvrence, he had made 
nimself so magnificent. He would ask her to dance, and 
she would dance with him and make him fall in love with 
her, and in achieving this she would spite Laura and make 
Larry repent he had left her standing in the corner through 
that first set. 

This assumed programme suffered a little derangement 
•from the captain's going straight toward Laura when he 
entered the room, and beginning a conversation with her 
that seemed to have no reference to Cicily whatever. 
Lawrence gave a look around, and seeing the dead lock 
things were at, motioned to Dave to begin to play, and 
begged his rustic guests to resume their places for a dance. 
Cicily was forced to accept him in default of the captain, 
but was much mortified to find him too much preoccupied 
to notice her hauteur. 

Now this dance was a most tr3dng one to the young host, 
and taxed heavily his philosoJ)hy and manliness. He knew 
perfectly well the impression that it must make upon the 



270 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

stranger; he knew it showed his guests in an awkwan) 
light, an i placed iiiin in disadvantageous contrast with the 
well' bred man of cities. He had once boasted to Laur<i, 
in a never-to-be-forgotten interview, that he could measure 
himself with the men of old-world civilization and refine- 
ment, and make them and make the world acknowledge his 
equality. Now the time had come to verify his boast; 
here was the man who was to her the embodiment of civi- 
lization and refinement, and he must show her he could 
bear the test of contrast with him or must sink forever in 
her eyes. So while self-respect would not allow him to 
make any change in the programme for the entertainment 
of his guests provided before the arrival of this most unwel- 
come one, neither must pride and consciousness be suffered 
to affect in any wise his own behavior. He had never had 
much occasion for acting before ; the people among whom 
his life had been chiefly spent were very glad to take him in 
whatever mood he happened to be, or with Avhatever man- 
ners he chose to assume. Lawless and easy, he was very 
sure of applause and admiration without seeking them in 
any way, and so it came doubly hard upon pride and self- 
love to begin for the first time to trim his behavior with his 
rival and his mistress looking critically on. 

For mistress of his heart, though he did not acknowledge 
it to himself in the remotest manner, Laura was still, and 
would be, whoever he might attempt to install there in her 
stead. His arbitrary jDride and mad self-will would only 
overthrow his own peace of mind, but would never banish 
her. He might make Cicily his wife — wiser men have done 
wilder things ; he might hold i\er children in his arms, call 
her interests his, see her face before him daily, leai*n to 



THE SUTHKRLANDB. 271 

require her presence, and to desire her love ; but Laura 
'vould be mistress still. The tame, common household 
affection that he would have to give to Cicily would 
resemble love no more than the second childhood of man's 
life resembles his first. But Larry was too proud and too 
reckless to see this. Cicily was too confident and too sel 
fish to see it, and Laura's seeing it could have done no 
good. 

" Shall that man dance this dance, or shall he stand there 
by the fireplace leaning over Laura's chair, and watching us 
with a superior stare ?" 

Lawrence thought it over rapidly, and then decided he 
should dance. So he strode across the room and made him 
a short speech, in substance much as follows : There being 
a reol about to begin, Captain Lacy would be kind enough 
to take a partner. Miss Sutherland not being otherwise 
occupied. Captain Lacy would be kind enough to take her, 
and Miss Sutherland taking Captain Lacy, would be kind 
enough to instruct him in the Catskill fashion of rendering 
that dance. 

Now Captain Lacy had not had the distantest intention 
of participating in that dance ; on the contrary, he had 
promised himself the most sweet talk with Miss Sutherland 
by the fire, and Miss Sutherland herself had been con 
fidently counting upon an escape from courtesy, and shuffle, 
and jig. Lawrence's invitation, however, admitted of no 
equivocation, and though the captain could have found it in 
bis heart to have broken his stalwart young host's head for 
his impertinence, he could only make a most courtier-like 
and highly perfumed bow, and solicit the honor of Mise 



272 THE 8UTHEBLANDB. 

Sutherland's hand for the reel. That poor 3''oang lady^ 
looking very much frightened, glanced uncomfortably 
toward her cousin as she took her place, who made a short, 
stiff bow at her acquiescence, and returned to his partner. 

Lawrence's dancing was quite as much of an improve- 
ment upon the dancing of the countrymen of those parts, aa 
his general character was an improvement upon theirs. An 
occasional visit to Albany and New York had taken the 
edge off his social simplicity, and had given him glinapses 
enough of polite life to make him equal to almost any 
emergency, though it is very possible his clever, discrimi- 
nating tact would have been sufficient of itself to have kept 
him from any offensive gaucherie. He did not suffer him- 
self to .be influenced by the damp awkwardness that fell 
upon the others at sight of the magnificent gentleman at 
the head of the room, but he determinedly entered into the 
honest, hearty, homely reel with a careless, manly freedom 
and abandon that Captain Lacy himself might have 
coveted. 

Tlie captain, indeed, it must be conceded, on this occa- 
sion came off second best. Larry had the advantage of 
entire familiarity with what he was about, and the help of 
a spirited and sprightly partner ; while the captain, feeling 
very much above his business, proved himself quite unequal 
to it) and before he had completed it, lost much of his mag- 
nificent complacency, and much of the reverence of the 
beholders, besides extremely bewildering and distressing 
his partner. And in proportion as the lustre of the couple 
at the head of the room waned, the brilliancy (»f the couple 
at the foot of it increased. Cicily, all piquancy and anima- 



THB SUTHEELANDS. 278 

tiou, danced with her whole heart and soul, and Lawrencej 
catching new inspiration from her coquetry and confidence, 
threw a gaiety and wildness into his movements that saved 
them from being rustic, and gave them a picturesque 
extravagance. Nobody could help looking at the tAvo, they 
were such a handsome pair, Cicily, in her red bodice and 
dark tunic, with face and eyes all aglow with spirit, and 
Lawrence, malgre top boots and brown jerkin, looking the 
very picture of a merry, manly, masquerading young aristo- 
crat : the rustic, a stranger would have sworn, was put on 
with the dress, and would come off when it came off. 
Indeed, they were soon the objects of the room's admira- 
tion; the irregular reel began to drop apart, one after 
another stopped, and looked laughing and applauding at 
the two so spiritedly endeavoring to dance each other 
down. 

Dave, entering fully into the spirit of the occasion, threw 
himself enthusiastically about as he played, and kept time 
with his entire body. Amen, peering in at the door, 
giggled, and chuckled, and whistled in a manner that was 
quite inspiring ; and half a dozen woolly heads outside the 
window, with rolling eyes and shining teeth, added to the 
strangeness of the scene in Captain Lacy's eyes, and to its 
jollity in the eyes of the others. Laura looked wistful, and 
perplexed, and half admiring ; and when Larry, laughing 
and panting, threw himself on one knee at the feet of the 
anconquerod Cicily, and acknowledged his defeat. Captain 
Lacy said, involuntarily and with energy : 

" As pretty a picture as I ever saw. Pray, who is the 
young womair?" 

22* 



274 THE 8UTHEBLAND8. 

The young woraan, at tliat moment, swept a destructive 
glance across the- room as she accepted Larry's homage, 
and. threw herself into a pretty attitude, giving him one 
hand, and with the other playing with the string of beads 
about her neck. But the strain upon the string was some- 
what too sudden ; it snapped, and the red baubles went 
rolling about the room in mazy recklessness. 

The captain started forward in pursuit of them ; Lari y 
Dent down to recover those within his reach ; Nick scram- 
bled off in another direction, and every man in the room 
was soon active in the service. This Avas a situation quite 
to Cicily's taste ; she would have enjoyed scatteiing beads 
for them to pick up all night ; she loved to be the prominent 
figure in a room, and to engage all devotion. It would 
have made Laura wretched to be giving so much trouble 
and attracting so much attention, but Cicily was in her 
element. When Captain Lacy brought gallantly back to 
her the handful he had rescued, she was so charming he 
oould not go away from her again. If he had been twice 
as much in love with Laura as he was, he could not have 
resisted Cicily's insnaring coquetry. Neither did Law- 
rence choose to resist it for the moment, and the humbler 
swains stood gaping round, looking with unconscious admi- 
ration at the pretty dispenser of smiles, and wondering, in 
their clumsy minds, at the easy way in which she talked to 
the grand gentleman who had quite struck them cold. It 
would have taken a much grander gentleman than had then 
been built to have struck Cicily cold : her indomitable levity 
of character would have risen to the surface under the 
severest pressure of majesty imaginable, and the vanity that 



THE SUTHERLAND8. 275 

ruled her soul and body would have asserted its supremacy 
in the face of the most imposing presence that it could any- 
where have met. 

Laura was not given to jealousy ; she had too much dig- 
nity and sweetuesa of soul to harbor long or often that most 
mean emotion ; but it could not have been a pleasant sight, 
even to her, that lavish waste of manly homage upon unwo- 
manly assurance. She only showed, however, when her 
cavalier returned, by a shade .of paleness on her face, and 
the faintest tinge of hauteur in her manner, that she had felt 
at all the slight. 

About that turn in the tide of affairs, Nattee came in 
with a huge tray of olecakes and apples and nuts, and 
Steady followed with a great tankard of spiced wine, and 
a multitude of jingling glasses. Cicily managed to have a 
good many wants, and to keep Lawrence pretty busy ; but 
Captain Lacy had had too great an alarm on seeing the 
change in Laura's manner, to venture within the charmed 
circle of her coquetry again. He kept at a safe distance, 
and humbly tried to regain his mistress' favor by all possi- 
ble arts of flattery and devotion. But Laura was not a 
transparency ; people who knew her much better than this 
gentleman did, were constantly puzzled by her, and it was 
not strange that at the end of the evening, when the guests 
were gone, and she bade good-night to him and to Warren 
and Lawrance, with the sweetest possible grace and with- 
out the slightest apparent feeling, he was thoroughly per- 
plexed to know whether he had lost her favor forever, or 
secured it entirely, or whether, after all, he had ever had 
the smallest claim to the possession of it. 



CHAPTER XVm. 



THE NOISELESS SNOW. 



-" The gods approve 



The depth, and not the tumult of the soul." 

Wordsworth. 

" Steady, you're to make Miss Laura's fire this morning, 
and you'd better be about it," Nattee called out to her 
young rival the next morning as she brushed past her with 
an armful of wood for the dining-room. It was very early, 
an hour before the early breakfast, almost in the grey dawn 
of the morning, and the house was very cold. Steady stood 
shivering by the sideboard, holding six well-rubbed knives 
in her hand, her one duty accomplished, and nothing more 
to fill up the time till break&st. There was not the least 
use in the child's getting up so early ; Salome and Nattee 
only scolded at her ; but at the first movement in the adjoin- 
ing room, the little Steadfast tumbled out of bed, and 
groped about for her clothes and said her prayers in the 
dark, and went down to rub her knives and to bring the 
kindling-wood for building the kitchen fire, and then to 
stand about ready to do anything or to get.oiit of anyb,ody'8 
way, or to go anywhere she was told to go. She had never 
" slept the sun up " yet in all her faithful little life ; she had 
said her prayers every morning before he came, ever sinoe she 
had been old enough to say her prayers at all : it was no 

S76 



THE SUTHERLAND 8. 277 

wonder ihat her days were such innocent and anofiending 
ones. It is very possible, that when she put her hands to- 
gether and said, the last thing before she got up from her 
knees, " Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep me this day without 
sin," she did not know distinctly the meaning of the first 
and longest word in the petition, but the Lord to whom she 
made the prayer knew, and that was quite enough. Child- 
ren bear sealed dispatches often to the Court of Heaven 
their innocent fidelity and ignorant obedience being theii- 
surest passport to the royal hearing, so steadfastly denied 
to arrogant wisdom and self-reliant merit. 

" What are all prayers beneath, 
But cries of babes that cannot know 

Half the deep thought they breathe ?" 

Steady's prayers were heard, her life told, and beyond 
that she had no need to look. 

To-day, Steady was to make Miss Laura's fire and go and 
wake her up. She had never done it before, so she was a 
little slower of movement than ordinary, and stood ponder- 
mg whether she should take up the j-ihavings firstj and then 
go out to the woodpile for the wood, or wait till she had 
got the wood and take both up at once. Salome was not 
. in a mood to tolerate pondering, and she ripped out a fierce 
threat about ** giving it to her " if sb^ didn't stir herself, 
and Nattee gave her a push out of her way as she came 
through the sitting-room door. StcJidy sighed humbly, did 
not dodge the blow, but tried to " stir herself " in accord 
ance with Salome's counsel. She raised the latch of the 
kitchen door and opened it, and t^ sheet of soft, cold* plu - 



278 THE BUTHEELANDS. 

my snow blew into her face. A real look of childish en 
joyment lighted her eyes as they met the welcome sight of 
the first snow of the year lying a foot deep on the gromid. 
It had been falling steadily since midnight, not falteringly 
and caressingly, but in honest earnest. Tlie wind was blow- 
ing and the air was thick with the flakes, careering about 
in every possible direction, snowing up as much as snowing 
down. Steady thought, whirling about as madly as they 
could before they reached their inevitable grave. 

There was not a symptom of the path to the woodpile 
visible ; but in she plunged boldly, going over the tops of 
her woollen stockings at every step, and feeling the light 
snow dance uncomfortably about her little naked legs. Her 
teeth chattered and her ears stung with the cold, but 
wrapping her fingers up in her long blue apron, she trudged 
on till she reached the site of that ancient pile. The hght 
wood and chips she wanted, however, were deeply buried 
from human eyes ; she had to uncover her stiff, red fiugei*s, 
and prepare to disinter them. She had just dug down, with 
. patient perseverance, to the spot where she had reason to 
hope to find them, and was struggling like a little woman 
to keep the snow out of her eyes and fill her apron with the 
chips, when, from some unknown quarter, a huge lump of 
snow descended, burying them again completely. Poor lit- 
tle Steady sighed, but meekly set to work at the task of 
disinterring the household treasures afresh. Her numb fin- 
gers had just reached the welcome sharp edge of the top- 
most chip, when down came the avalanche again. Threu 
times the little unsuspecting renewed her work, and three 
times was it swallowed up in that mysterious descent. Bnt 



THE SIjTHEKLANDS. 279 

the third and last time a dark suspicion seemed to enter her 
mind, and rising slowly she shaded her eyes from the drift 
ing snow with both hands, and gazed in the direction from 
whence the avalanche had seemed to come. And there, by 
the well-pole, crouched Amen, too black to be hidden in 
such a white surrounding. He laughed a most villainous 
laugh, rising up out of the snow, and turning two consecu- 
tive somersaults, he looked back at her only to make that 
"odious, vulgar sign" mentioned by Mr. Thackeray, and 
then ran whooping off to the barn. 

" You are a bad boy," said Steady, with distinct and 
solemn emphasis^ standing perfectly still and looking after 
him. Her chest heaved with a smothered indignation, but 
that slow, measured sentence was all the expression that 
she gave to it. Then stooping down again, she renewed 
her labors, and secured at last hej* desired supply of incom- 
bustible matter. Poor little girl ! when she got into the 
house, Salome scolded her for being so long, and ^Nattee 
rated her for bringing so much snow in on her feet. With 
a few dry shavings and a great many wet chips and an arm- 
ful of damp wood, she arrived at last before Miss Laura's 
door, and, at infinite pains not to make any noise, reached 
up and raised the latch. But with a miserable fatality, the 
whole supply of wood slipped from her uplifted arms and 
fell with a stupendous crash upon the floor. Not only Miss 
Laura, but every soul in the house must be awakened by it, 
and Steady stood petrified amid the scattered ruins of her 
enterprise. 

" I'm not asleep. Steady, don't be scared," said her mis- 
tress' encouraging voice. Steady gave a little sigh of 



280 THE SUTHERLAND 8; 

relief, aud glanced toward her. She had pullei the cur- 
tains of the bed aside as well as the curtains of the window, 
and with her half-raised head resting on her hands, was 
gazing out at the white snow-shrouded landscape. She had 
not at all the air of a young lady who had just waked up, 
the had evidently " shaken off drowsy-hed " long before 
Steady's advent. The nicest time in the world for thinking 
is while one's fire is being madej who would give a rush 
for a maid so velvet as not to wake one till the room is 
ready and there is nothing to do but to get up. The 
brightened blessing of one's pillow is never half so sweet as 
when the title to it is past, the luxurious sensation of 
repose is never near so exquisite as when its knell has 
sounded ; that half-hour between waking and rising is 
worth all the peaceful night beside. 

By and by Laura sank down on her pillow again and 
watched' Steady light the fire, or rather attempt to light it. 
But scanty shavings, wet chips and damp wood are not 
a happy combination when ignition is desired. Steady 
wearied herself to strike a spark that would live long 
enough to produce a blaze in the tinder she held over it ; 
but either Steady was clumsy or the tinder was poor, or 
the damp had infected both flint and tinder, for not once 
out of six times did the latter take fire, and when it did, it 
generally went out before it reached the shavings. At last, 
however, the shavings caught and roared up cheerfully ; 
but even while Steady's brown eyes gazed affectionately 
at the flame, it sank down ignominiously, and having con- 
sumed the slavings and blackened the chips and drawn a 




THE 8UTHEKLANDS. 281 

few sighs from the wood, it expired in a little dolefiil smokoi 
Steady did not cry : 

'* She was not pro le to weeping as her sex 
Commonly are 

but her great, dbappointed eyes quite overcame her mis- 
tress. 

' " My little maid," cried Laura, conquering a smile, " I 
think you have done your very best ; I think it is the fire's 
fault altogether. If you go down and ask Nattee, she will 
bring up some coals from the kitchen and start it quickly." 
Steady went aown, and Nattee soon made her appear- 
ance with the coals, but so sullen and silent as to provoke 
Laura's wonder. Nattee had a hundred things to do just 
then ; Salome was storming furiously because the table was 
not ready. Lawrence had just called to Nattee for a shirt 
that had a button on it. The old man was growling <por- 
tentously about his breakfast; the strange gentleman's 
attendant was waiting in the hall below for hot water, 
sweet cream, and nobody knew how many other requisites 
for his master's toilette ; Mrs. Sutherland had one of her 
worst sick headaches and could not leave her bed, and upon 
Nattee all the hard work of the day promised to come. It 
was not balsamic, then, to see the dainty young lady lying 
so luxuriously in her bed, waiting for her room to be warm 
and pleasant before she ventured to set her foot upon the 
floor ; to think that it was her right and her inheritance to 
be at ease and pampered, while it was her right and her 
inheritance to toil and get no thanks. Why was she made 
to differ ? What was it but injustice and oppression that 



^ 



282 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

kept her where she was — subject to the caprices of Christ- 
ian tempers, to kicks from Christian feet and cuffs from 
Christian hands ? " On the side of their oppressors was 
power," Nattee thought, remembering last night's lesson, 
and through her mind went drifting blindly and uncertainly 
the words her teacher had read out of the great, grim, 
well-worn Bible on his knee : " Behold the hire of the 
laborers who -have reaped down your fields, which is of you 
kept back by fraud, crieth, and the cries of them which 
have reaped are entered into the ears of the Lord of Sab- 
baoth." Strange, wUd reverberations the words awoke in 
her darkened soul, hardly thoughts, for she faintly com- 
prehended them, but dumb, instinctive echoes of the denun- 
ciations of the prophet, fierce longings for the coming of 
the miseries of which he spoke, fierce thirstings for the 
revenge he never meant to teach. 

" How strange and sullen the girl's eyes are this morn- 
ing," Laura thought, watching her with half uneasy won- 
der. But when the door closed after her, and the new- 
built fire roared up the chimney, Laura turned her eyes to 
that, and her thoughts to the stuff of which her dreams, 
waking and sleeping, had latterly been made. It was not 
selfish, exactly ; a woman is not always responsible for the 
way her thoughts turn and the color her dreams take. 

The breakfast had been on the table some minutes 
before Miss Sutherland entered the sitting-room. The 
three young men stood around the fire, waiting for her 
appearance ; old Ralph had had his breakfast half an hour 
and had betaken himself and his pipe off to the workshop 
to do what in him lay to make the day a hard one for the 



THE SUTHER LANDS. 288 

men engaged there. Nattee stood behind her mistress' 
vacant chair, and fixed her quick eyes on Laura as she 
entered. A more careful toilet than usual, undoubtedly, 
a more timid, conscious, vacillating manner. What if, after 
all, this brave young officer, with his fine laced coat and 
bright black eyes, had come to marry her and take her off 
Master Larry would get over it after awhile, for all he 
looked so stiff and ugly now, as the stranger stepped 
forward with officious gallantry to meet her, bending low. 

"Laura, I'm afraid you'll have to take my mother's 
place this moniing," he said, rather abruptly, as she 
approached the fire. 

" Mayn't I warm my hands first ?" she said, holding her 
pretty hands toward the blaze, while Captain Lacy, gazing 
at them, murmured something about 



." The fanned snow 



That^s bolted by the northern blasts twice o'er," 

and made a swift aurora tinge the whiteness of her face by 
his ill-timed compliment. Larry, rustic as he was, would 
never have committed the folly of saying a tender thing 
with two dispassionate male auditors between him and his 
mistress. He would be sharp, pungent, racy in his court- 
ship, almost sneering, beyond dispute indifferent, when the 
world was listening ; his touches of tendresse would be for 
her alone, when her heart was listening, when the world 
was out of hearing. Instinctively he would have known 
he had lost gr Dund when he made |jer blush that sort of a 
blush ; he would have known it had associated him in her 
mind with something uncomfortable and malapropos, A 



284 THE SCTTHEBLANDb. 

woman is always uncertain of herself when the world ia 
certain of her conquest and is thumbing it curiously over 
and putting it in all lights before her; a wise man will 
keep the world as much in the dark about his passion as is 
convenient till he is pretty sure of its success. A lover 
who sits down before his mistress' heart and lays pre- 
meditated and acknowledged siege to it, may wear it out, 
but will not enter it in any way more gratifying to his 
pride. The attitude of a suitor is an unbecoming attitude ; 
it must be assumed suddenly, tellingly, half unexpectedly ; 
for only for a very brief space can a woman safely look 
down where she ought only to look up. 

Laura took her place at the table very quickly, and expe- 
rienced a sensation of relief when Larry began to interest 
himself in the matter of breakfast. She was sure he 
wanted to laugh about the " fanned snow :" she wondered 
what Warren thought of the whole affair, she wondered 
whether there would anything else occur to make her 
blush so ; she wished herself out of the reach of criticism 
with all her heart. The conversation was some minutes 
in getting into an oily groove : Lawrence was scrupulously 
attentive to his guest, but stiff and silent-; and this was his 
first meeting with Warren, so that, with the best intentions 
in the world toward each other, they did not fall into inti- 
mate social relations on the spot, which, considering their 
nationality and the characters of the two men, is not a circum- 
stance to excite astonishment. If Laura had been at ease, 
all would have gone njprry as a marriage bell, for a woman 
generally has it in her power to govern table-talk, howeyer 
limited her authority may be in matters of more con8e< 



THE SUTHERLANDS. 285 

quence. If she has her wits about her, she can make 
herself a trait d^union between uncongenial talkers of the 
other sex, and bridge over the widest differences of 
sentiment between them with an artless laugh or an 
unconscious question. Her supposed inferiority, her sim- 
plicity of character, her ignorance of the causes of their 
un congeniality, make a common ground upon which they 
may meet in harmony. But Laura had never been less at 
her ease in all her life, and so she did not mend the stiffness 
of the breakfast table in the least degree ; neither did 
Lawrence mend her confusion by sending back his cup in 
the matter-of-factest way, with the intelligence that it had 
no sugar in it. 

" I'm sure I'm very sorry, Lawrence," she said, with a 
blush. 

" I'm sure I don't know why you should be," lie said, as 
if he did know very well. 

Warren, who caught then a suspicion of something 
uncomfortable, began to bestir himself in the way of talk, 
and introduced the war, and its happy termination. Cap- 
tam Lacy was at home there, and talked so well as to 
inspire the young clergyman with a respect he had not felt 
at first sight of his fine gentlemanliness. From the war 
in Canada, they advanced by easy stages toward England 
and English politics, and still the military man was the 
best man of the three; in truth, he would have been a 
very poor man indeed, if he had not been at home on what 
he had principally been drilled, smce his pastors and 
masters had begun his education. Lawrence had entered 
but very Kttle into the political workings of the mother 



286 THE SUTHEBLAND8. 

country ; indeed, at that precise period there was nothing 
of sufficient dramatic interest to arrest the attention of one 
of just his mind ; there was nothing in the latter part of 
that unheroic reign of the second George, to stir up hia 
young blood to enthusiasm of any kind. When an ocean rolls 
between the stage of the theatre and the house, there must 
be some thrilling thing upon the boards to bring it down. 
Larry was of the second generation, and nothing bound him 
to England save a very slim sentiment of patriotism ; but 
try to interest himself as he would, it seemed that be was 
partly weaned. He knew the leading events, the leading 
men, and had a general grasp of the political tendency of 
the age— but he felt no more personal and actual interest 
in them than the hot-blooded Young America of 1860 does 
in those same events and men. The great struggle was 
some fifteen years off yet, and Lawrence's heart was in the 
.piesent. 

Probably neither of those three young men, so nearly 
matched in years, so widely different in soul, had much 
anticipation of the tribulation coming, but of the three, 
Warren would catch the faint and far-off gleam the earliest. 
His was almost a prophet's soul, in cleanness, in clearness, 
in steadiness, in faith. 

" Heaven only knows, sir, how you get at that I" cried 
tlie officer, half-impatieutly, as in answer to some stuffiwl, 
self-sufficient assertion of his about the future of the 
colonies, Warren had said, thoughtfully, it seemed to him, 
their destiny, whatever it might be, was a destiny to be 
accomplished by itself, whole and entire, detached from 
^xxy old world sovereignty, free and unrestrained to run 



THB 8UTHERLANDS, 287 

its own course to glory or perdition, the greatest or the 
saddest chapter in the history of the world ; and that the 
silence that intervened before its opening had already 
fallen. 

" Heaven only knows how you get at that, sir." 

"Heaven does know, I make no manner of doubt,*' 
Larry thought, then said aloud: "I wish you may be 
right, Warren. I should begin to love my country if I 
thought you were. I'm hanged if I've much affection foi 
my stepdame ; affection for stepdames is an acquired 
taste, any how ; it doesn't bud i' the breast. And but 
that the dowager is such a keen old crone, I should have 
hopes of getting from her clutches and shaking off her 
powerful gripe. But she knows her cards too well to let 
us slip — such a lusty young daughter as Columbia may 
make her a great name yet, may stay her failing fortunes, 
and be the prop of her old age. If she doesn't love her, 
she'll coax her, she'll wheedle her, with chattering and 
toothless hypocrisy, into anything she chooses to dictate. 
She'll cuddle and fondle all the spirit out of her — she's 
begun to do it already " 

Warren shook his head, Laura looked white with horror, 
and the captain looked choked with wrath, and Lawrence 
went on enchanted : 

" Yes, my dear parson, she's begun at it already. There 
isn't spirit enough to say her ' nay ' in all the land ; as Perti- 
nax would tell you, Jeshurun has waxed too fat to kick — he'd 
lay down and roll before her in the dust, but he wouldn't, 
couldn't, daren't kick, No, no — she's stuffed our con- 
sciences with her maxims of loyalty, and our pockets with 



^88 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

the gold we could have got without her, and our moutha 
with the bread which she chooses to call hers, and we 
must e'en be grateful and lick the hand that binds the 
halter round our necks. Ah ! The good day isn't coming, 
Warren, yet awhile at least. Yankees, mean and lean, 
Dutchmen, fat and dull, Virginians, fawning, cringing, 
toadying — they're all the stuff we've got to make our 
heroes out of— the heroes that are to give us a land of our 
own to be patiiotic about, not somebody else's land that 
we're allowed to live in, while we pay our rent and please 
our landlord." 

" It will be some time before the heroes will be needed, in 
my humble judgment,'" said Captain Lacy, with a slight but 
lofty laugh. " My acquaintance, imperfect as it is, with the 
poHcy of the mother country, and with the matchless 
organization and efficacy of her forces by land and sea, 
makes the idea of resistance to her authority on the part 
of these scattered, thinly-peopled, defenceless colonies, 
something almost ludicrous in its extravagance.*' 

"But it is just possible they may grow, you know, 
if she doesn't put a stone upon their heads," said War- 
ren. 

" Oh, she'll be ready with the stone, you may be sure," 
cried Larry. " Only let her look out it don't slip off and 
get fastened round her own neck in the struggle." 

" She will look out," said Captain Lacy, significantly and 
shortly. 

" May Nattee take the breakfast things away, Lawrence?" 
said Laura, rising uneasily. 

" Yes, certainly," Larry answered, pushing back bis 



THE 8TITHEBLAND8. 289 

chair and walking toward the window. Captain Lacy 
followed Laura to the fire, and Warren did not move. 

"A dismal storm!" said Lawrence, turning from the 
window, and coming back to the fire. "Nattee, more 
wood, more wood !" 

"Mr, Sutherland," said Captain Lacy, "I am afraid I 
am at your mercy to-day. I am afraid I am not brave 
enough to face that storm and turn my back upon this 
pleasant fire." 

" The storm has only seconded my suit, Capt. Lacy. I 
should not have consented to your going if it had been the 
finest weather Catskill is capable of. You are surely enti- 
tled to a little rest, after so hard a journey, as also I am 
sure is your esquire, not to mention your horses, about 
whose melancholy plight I am much concerned. Why, sir, 
I vow I don't think the roan will be fit to leave the stable 
in a fortnight — I never saw a beast more thoroughly 
knocked up." 

" You're speaking seriously ?" the officer asked, with an 
anxious look. 

" Most seriously. I went out to the stable before break- 
fast, to see if the men had looked properly after them, an"d 
I assure you Pm in earnest when I say, they're both in tol- 
erably bad case. The filly your man rides, I find, is badly 
lamed — these rough mountain roads play the very deuce 
with the horses' feet. I ruined a fine young mare, some 
three years ago, on an expedition* to Fort Hunter, late in 
the fall ; and between the ice and the rocks, she hadn't 
a sound leg to bless herself with by the time we got there." 

" You quite perplex me," said the captain, knitting hj» 

13 



290 THE SnTHEBLANDS. 

brows and walking once or twice across tlie room. " Mj 
errand admits of no delay — ^I should even now be at New 
York. I had only meant to indulge myself with a day's 
rest here, at furthest, and even that is of doubtful propiiety. 
Could no horses, do you suppose, be found in the neighbor- 
hood that would serve our purpose ? I shall be most unfor * 
tunately placed, if none can be obtained." 

" Oh, as to that," answered his host, " you shall not want 
for a couple of horses, while there are so many standing 
idle in my father's stable; but you will find the roads 
almost impassable for the next few days. I give you my 
word, if this snow does not hold up, you could not get 
from here to Sopus to-day to save your commission. I 
haven't seen a heavier storm in years, and it's beginning to 
drift tremendously. You may be thankful you weren't 
overtaken by it up in the mountains. I sincerely advise 
you to make yourself as comfortable as possible here for 
fche present; no conceivable blame can attach to you foi 
not starting on in such a storm, and I promise you my roost 
zealous assistance whenever it is suitable weather for your 
journey. A dull period, no. doubt, you will find it ; but, 
sir, consider it is better than being lost in a snow-drift on 
Round Top, or being storm-bound in an Indian wig- 
wam. I can offer you chess, draughts, and cards, a good 
many old books, and a very few new ones, some tolerable 
ale and some capital tobacco, the * Independent Reflector,* 
and a good fire. Be •counselled, sir, and accept my 
offer." 

Laura took this occasion for a quiet exit from the room ; 
and when the guest, after his deep bow, raised liis eyes to 




THE SUTHEBLAND8. 291 

ask his mistress' permission to accept the tempting hosp}* 
tality, there was no mistress present to accord it. 

Laura knocked gently at, and entered noiselessly, her 
aunt's darkened apartment. She knew enough of head- 
uclics to be very unobtrusive, and peeped through the cur 
tains of the bed as silently and softly as the first ray of 
dawn. The poor patient lady on the bed faintly extended 
her hand and begged her to sit down by her. 

" I am very sorry, my dear," she said, speaking as if it 
hurt her, '* I am very sorry to leave everything and go to 
bed, just when this gentleman's here. I hope Salome will 
take pains with things, and Nattee won't give any trouble. 
T tiied to get up, but I could not. Was the breakfast nice, 
my child ?" 

" Oh, very nice, dear aunt. It could not have been nicer 
if you'd seen to it yourself. I think the coffee was the 
best we've had for a month — the cakes were as light as 
snow, and the birds were done to a charm. Larry, I know* 
was pleased with them, and Captain Lacy was helped 
twice." 

" I am very glad," said the poor lady, with a sigh. " I 
3nly wish I were as sure of dinner." 

" Oh, now, ray dear Aunt Andria, please leave that to 
me, and don't think about it once. Salome's delightful 
to-day ; I haven't heard her say a cross word (principally 
because she had not listened, it is to be feared, however), 
and Nattee's uncommonly steady. Everything will go on 
-ight, you may be very sure. Captain Lacy Las been 
roughing it in camp for six months, and he will not be .ipt 
10 notice whether everything is in perfect order or not." 



292 THE SUTHEBLAND8. 

" But your uncle will," murmured Mrs. Sutherland ; 
" he's sure to find fault if I haven't attended to everything 
myself." 

" He's sure to find fault either way," thought the niece ; 
but she only said, " I think we are all used to my uncle, and 
^vill not mind it if he does." 

"And I'm so worried about Larry," said the mother, 
turning her troubled eyes on Laura. " I'm afraid he won't 
be civil to the stranger. He's so self-willed, and takes such 
strong prejudices, and there's no turning him.'* 

" Why, aunt, that's the last thing to be afraid of," cried 
Laura, quickly, and with animation ; " he is wonderfully 
polite to Captain Lacy. He urges him to stay most ear- 
nestly, and pays him every possible attention." • 

" I'm very glad," sighed Mrs. Sutherland, in a relieved 
tone ; " I was afraid he wasn't pleased last night when he 
came out into the sitting-room." 

" Did he seem vexed ?" Laura askdd, rather hesitatingly, 
looking at her aunt. 

" Why, yes, I thought he did. But perhaps it was only 
because he was afraid that Cicily would be taken with hia 
fine uniform. Ah ! poor boy !" 

The tendency of Mrs. Sutherland's mind was so hope- 
lessly to affict itself, and the view she took of everything 
was so dark a view, it seemed useless to attempt to reason 
away her troubles ; and Laura very wisely said, 

" Let me read to you a little in d Kempis, Aunt Andria, 
won't you ?" 

" Yes, dear child. If you do not mind it," said the poor 
sufferer, gratefully. 




THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 295 

And Laura toolr down from the high shelf above the fire 
place the old well-worn k Kempis, over which the poor 
lady's sad head had so many times been bowed, and which 
had filled up so many gaps in her hard, weary days. " Of 
the Highway of the Holy Cross *' Laura read, and, it is 
needless to say, was the better for the reading. Young and 
old, rich and poor, scholar and peasant — all find they can 
sit at the feet of the humble-minded monk of Mount St. 
Agnes, " whom Jews might bless, and Protestants adore," 
and learn of him the things that make for their peace. 
With Laura, the book had the dearest associations, and was 
a daily study ; it had been, for many years, poor Mrs 
Sutherland's secretly-cherished comforter ; Warren read it 
nightly, after he had put away his books of study ; Perti- 
ua^c read it aloud to himself, walking up and down his dis- 
mal cabin, and muttering his occasional approbation ; and 
even Lawrence read it when he was restless, and " could 
not please himself" with either more learned or lighter 
books. That silent recluse has had a vaster audience, per- 
haps, than any mere mortal preacher ever had: different 
kindreds, and peoples, and tongues have heard him speak in 
their own language the wonderful works of God, and daily, 
it may be, have been added to the Church, through him, 
such souls as would accept salvation. 

The look of trouble and despondency passed out of the 
listener's eyes, as Laura read ; the best of us^avo memcries 
60 short, it helps us vastly to con our spiritual lesson over 
every day, to put plainly before our eyes every day whose 
we are and whom we serve, what we have renounced and 
what we must expect. If we trust solely to our liiemones, 



294 THE SUTHBBLANDB. 

we shall be very apt to find them much fuller of the " things 
seen," most treacherous of the "things unseen." Poor 
Mrs. Sutherland, indeed, had found her life "signed on 
every side with crosses," and seemed in no danger of for- 
getting its grim lesson ; but the teaching of love and grace, 
that was the key to all the gloomy problem, sometimes she 
failed to reach. She never ceased to be patient, she was of 
too gentle a nature, and too meek a faith for that ; but 
sometimes the cross was ground too deeply in her soul to 
suffer lier to see its meaning and be thankful for its pain. 

"And how dare I seek any other way than this royal 
way, the way of the Holy Cross ?" thought Laura, as she 
shut herself into her own room, to master her discontent. 

And again and again she read, but could not yet assent : 
"• Assure thyself thou canst not have two paradises : it is 
impossible to enjoy delights in this world, and after that to 
reign with Christ.*' 



CHAPTER XIX. 

FINE OR SUPERFINE. 
" Di&moi qui tu aimcs, ct je te dirai qui tu esJ^ 

Laura had been in to report the successful termination 
of the dinner anxiety to her aunt, and to cheer her with 
assurances of the entire neutrality of her unde on the 
question of the stranger's visit, and his encouraging absti* 
nence from insulting criticism on home matters, and had 
comforted and cheered the poor lady not a little ; when, aa 
she left the room, thinking of some fresh order for Salome, 
she hurried through the hall, and had opened the door 
of the sitting-room, and was half way across it, before she 
saw who was its only occupant. Now the storm, contrary 
to Lariy's predictions, had begun to abate before twelve 
o'clock, the wind died away, the snow-flakes lessened every 
minute, and about one o'clock they had ceased altogether, 
and the sun came palely out, and the storm was a thing 
of the past. Capt. Lacy's spirits had not appeared to rise 
with the mercury, however, nor his content to shine with 
the clearing sky ; and Ralph's remark that there had been 
just snow enough to make good sleighing, and the high- 
way would be well-beaten before sundown, had thrown him 
into a very abstracted and uncomfortable mood. Ha 
endeavored manfully to interest himself in the table-talk, 
and to sustain his part, but he was evidently pre-occupied 



296 THE SUTHKRLANDS. 

and uneasy, and glanced occasionally out of the window 
witU an anxious, absent look, that clever young Mr. Suther- 
land was not slow in interpreting. 

It was most perverse and unaccountable in this young 
gentleman, but he soemed to have no desire stronger than 
the desire to retain his guest. He was not contented with 
offering all necessary hospitality and entreaty, but he really 
seemed bent upon undermining his guest's conscientious 
scruples, and drowning all suggestions of duty with his 
subtle and seductive reasoning. Of course, he had too 
much intuitive good-breeding to press his hospitality or 
zealously urge his invitation, but it was very clear to Laura 
he was determined upon retaining him for another day at 
least. Now perhaps Laura ought to have thanked him veiy 
much for his assistance, but very perversely and unaccount- 
ably, she did not thank him in the least ; indeed, it piqued 
her very much to see how cordially he seconded the stran- 
ger's suit. Perhaps he did not know the stranger was her 
suitor ? It was not probable he had so soon lost the clue he 
had been so quick to seize the night he wound up that long, 
long ball of worsted, with his eyes upon her face. It was 
not probable that so clever a spectator had failed to see the 
little by-play that he was not meant to see ; there was not 
the least chance that he had not seen all, and was not 
doing what he did designedly. And supposing Laura to be 
udifferent to all but the flattery of the devotion of both 
these men, she could not have been a woman, and not have 
resented the utter indifference that marked her cousin's 
course ; for Httle as she may have desired it, she could not 
help knowing he should by right have been her lover, and 



THE 8UTHEKLANDS. 297 

had paid her a very poor compliment by falling in love 
with Cicily van Hansen. No woman thanks a possible 
lover for furthering the suit of one who ougjit to have been 
his rival, even if she wishes to have the suit furthered ; the 
sweetest, feirest, most womanly woman that ever lived, has 

strong, unconscious element of vanity in her composition 
that rises to resent the failure of a homage to which she 
feels herself entitled. 

After a lengthened dinner and a prolonged smoke, Law- 
rence had proposed to Captain Lacy to go with him to the 
stable, and judge for themselves of the condition of the 
horses. There Laura now supposed them to be, until her 
abrupt entrance into the sitting-room, roused from his 
thoughtful attitude by the fire, the very last person with 
whom she was prepared to hold an interview. Not yet, 
not yet, is the thought that springs between a woman and 
•her lover's declaration, be it welcome or unwelcome. 

"How shall I escape," Laura's eyes said, as they met 
Captain Lacy's for an instant, in desperate confusion. 

" Miss Sutherland," he said, starting forward, and speak- 
ing agitatedly and low, "may I see you a moment by 
yourself? You will not refuse me that, I trust !" * 

" Oh, no," said Laura, hurriedly, tuniing very white. 
" If you will excuse me for an instant, while I deliver a 
message from my aunt." 

And she dissolved from his sight, and assumed bodily 
ifthape on the other side of the kitchen door. But what 
a palpitating, fluttering, frightene'cl bodily shape it was, to 
be sure. Lawrence had just entered from out-doors, and 
was knocking the snow off his feet on the kitchen mat, 

13* 



298 THE SUTHKBLANDS. 

when he found himself suddenly confronting his cousin, red 
dening and whitening, trembling and panting from hei 
recent most impiinent adventure. He knew who was in 
the sitting-room, ergo he knew what had agitated her so. 
It was not evident in his manner, for he was unusually self- 
possessed and easy — a soft of self-possession and ease 
which his ill-wishers might have called, on that occasion, 
impudence, perhaps, or at least, assurance. He kicked the 
snow very deliberately from his feet, and looked attentively 
at her, while Salome, lifting herself out of the bread-trough, 
said graciously : 

" Well, Miss Laura, chile, what's wanted now ?" 

Why, what was principally wanted, was an asylum from 
the teri'ors of the other room, but for obvious reasons, 
Laura could not tell Salome so ; and as for the errand on 
which she had come, she could not for her life remember it. 
What was it, what did her aunt want Salome to make ' 
for sapper ? 

"I came to — I mean — my aunt wants — ^I've — ^I've for- 
gotten what — for supper," she stammered, in confusion, 
while Salome stared in amazement, and Lawrence checked 
himself in a slight amused laugh. • 

" Better go back into the sitting-room and think it up, 
Laura,'* he said, carelessly, emptying his pockets slowly of 
some samples of grain and dried cars of corn, and doing 
nothing whatever to relieve her embarrassment. Nothing 
intentional that is, but in reality, that careless laugh 
had reinstated Laura's pride, and helped her memory oou- 
eiderably. 

" My aunt wants you to make something for supper that 



THE SUTHEBLAKDS. 299 

fihe was speaking to you about last week — some new sort 
of warm bread, I think. I don't believe I ever tasted it ; 
she said you knew the recipe." 

"Love the chile! What is she talkin' about," mur- 
mured Salome, in bewilderment. 

Now Laura had recalled the name very distinctly, but to 
acknowledge that, would be to admit that she had been in 
a state of embarrassment and agitation before, and that 
would be tantamount to admitting, either the gentleman 
she had left so abruptly in the sitting-room or the gentle- 
man she had encountered so suddenly in the kitchen, had 
the power to excite and agitate her greatly, and such admis- 
sion she could not allow. 

" I don't think you have made it since I've been here," 
she went on rather quickly, but quite composedly. "I 
believe you used to make it last year. My uncle likes it 
very much ; it is raised with yeast, and has eggs in it, if I 
remember right." 

"The chile can't be talkin' 'bout pumpkin bread, you 
don't think, Massa Larry, now ?" cried Salome, throwing 
herself into an attitude. 

"Upon my word, I can't think anything about it, Salome; 
but as a matter of speculation, I might say, I didn't much 
l^elieve *the chile' knew exactly what she was talking 
about herself." 

" The chile," a very pale one at that moment, turned her 
back upon the speaker, anJ picked her way daintily to the 
fireplace, saying : 

" Yes, it was pumpkin bread my aunt wanted, I remem- 
ber. She told me this morning, but I forgot to tell you." 



300 fHE 8UTHEBLANDS. 

" Pumpkin bread I Three o'clock I Ready 'gainst sap' 
per-time !" ejaculated Salome, in a voice bristling all over 
with exclamation points. " Massa Larry, what d'ye think 
o' that — what d'ye think o' that, for a young woman goin' 
on twenty ? Cicily could tell her better, eh, Massa Larry ? 
Cicily wouldn't be askin' to ha' pumpkin bread raised up in 
a couple o' hom's, now would she, massa — come, now would 
she ?" 

Larry gave a short laugh, and said he didn't believe she 
would. " But since when did Cicily get into your good 
graces, Salome, I'd hke to know ? If I remember right, 
you didn't adore her formerly." 

Salome, cunning old hypocrite, did not adore her then;, 
but she had cleverness enough to see she was likely very 
shortly to call her mistress, and that the sooner she con- 
quered aversion and began devotion the better for herself. 
She had had a glorious easy life under Mrs. Sutherland, 
senior, but she saw rocks ahead, when the black eyes should 
come into power. She would see, however, what flattery 
could do, though her whole soul revolted from the change ; 
she would hold by the administration while her powers of 
dissimulation lasted, Salome was a shrewd, selfish old 
woman, not destitute of good feeling and a certain sort of 
faithfulness, but quite unembarrassed by anything lik^ 
principle or sincerity. She was fond of Massa 'LaiTy ; he 
was " her boy," and the only living thing she did care for, 
except a superannuated hound who had the freedom of the 
cellar, and who was honorably lodged in the chimney-cor- 
ner whenever he would accept that hospitality. She hated 
her master with the most generous and unstinted hatred, 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS 301 

arid was not sparing in the expression of it, except in hia 
very presence, knowing that it wat the sentiment of the 
household, and an understood thing. She was ungracious 
and surly half the time with Mrs. Sutherland, knowing 
quite well how far she could go, and going to the very end 
of her rope. Of Larry she had to ^^eware, and perhaps 
that was the reason why she was fond of him and flattered 
him and petted him to the last degree. Laura she had at 
first made much of, as the possible mistress of the house, but 
recent indications guided her wisely to pay her court to 
the young termagant of the black and flaming eyes. 

" Ah," she cried, not slow to notice she had interested 
him by what she said, though he was busy about the grain, 
of course, " ah, Massa Larry, I didn't use to like her when 
she was a rorapin' tomboy thing, wi' jest the wickedest 
ways o' any critter goin' ; but now she's growed up inter 
sich a likely young woman, I say let bygones be bygones. 
Such a thrifty, tidy housekeeper as folks says she is ! It'ud 
be a shame to be a twittin' her with it, that she used to be 
wilder'n a hawk. I don't think so much o' her bein' hand- 
some ; there's plenty o' handsome ones as isn't worth their 
salt (a back-handed slap at Laura) ; but she's a gal's as is 
good for something 'bout the kitchen, and keeps things 
goin', so I've heard folks say. I can't abear to see young 
women tendin' o' their white hands, and bein' waited on. 
Let 'em put their shoulder to the wheel, I say, and " 

" And the wheel '11 be apt to go round," said Larry. 

" Exactly," Salome responded, not quite pleased with 
being helped to the end of her sentence so fast, however, 
and with a very doubtful sense of the good faith of hei 



3U2 THE SUTHEELANDS 

assistant. She ceased rather abruptly singmg Ciciiy'e 
praises, and turning round, exclaimed in a scratchy, snarly 
sort of way, that that Nattee was the pest of her life. 
Why didn't she go about her business, and not stay potter- 
ing over that kettle of coffee all the afternoon. It was 
frcorched blacker'n Rube's face half an hour ago; and 
sniffing around wrathfuUy, she proclaimed it was burnt to a 
cinder. There were grounds for such an assertion. Nattee, 
who had been stirring the coffee absently for some time, 
looked up with keen interest when Laura came into the 
kitchen, and the coffee had a vacation during the dialogue 
that ensued. She did not move or speak, but still half- 
kneeling, with her hand suspended over the fragrant kettle 
on the fire, and her head turned over her shoulder, she 
watched with keenness alternately Lawrence's and Laura's 
face. And when Laura came toward the fire and stood 
before it, and thinking herself unwatched, with an irre- 
pressible gesture twisted her hands together and bit her lip, 
Nattee's eager eyes, burning on her face, recalled her 
sharply to self-control. An indignant, startled look the gii*l 
got for her impertinence, much such a look as Lawrence 
had given her under the grape-vine yesterday. She was 
guilty of having seen her master's passion in his eyes and 
her mistress' emotion in her gestures; by every law of 
justice and humanity, she should suffer for her wonderful 
audacity. Her eye did not sink under Laura's glance, it 
flamed that " old wrathe " back upon her of which her 
heart was full. 

Salome, sniffing about portentously, scented unmistakably 
the burning coffee, and waddled over to the fire ; standinfK 



THE 8UTHES LANDS. 303 

with arms akimbo before it, she delivered herself of a 
scathing rebuke to the lackless priestess of Mocha, and 
commanded her to take the kettle over to Massa Larry for 
bis further conviction of her enormities. 

I won't touch it," she muttered, rising sullenly. 

" You won't !" cried Salome, with a scowl of rage and a 
falter of astonishment. "Ef you don't take that there 
kettle this minute over to Mass' Larry, I'll see you well 
thrashed 'fore sun down. I'll tell ole massa every word." 

" Tell him, then I" cried Nattee, with sudden passion, 
flinging the ladle across the kitchen and glaring like a 
young tigress. "Tell him I don't care for him nor his 
thrashings, ner for you ner your lyings. Tell him I'm glad 
I burnt the coffee, an' I'll do it next time, if I choose." 

"Massa Larry, hear* that, now, will yel" exclaimed 
Salome, with a wicked sense of triumph. 

" What good wiU my hearing it do ?" he returned, going 
on with his work. 

"No good," cried Nattee bitterly, "for he don't care 
whether I'm thrashed or not. He wouldn't raise a finger 
if the ole man was killin' me. No good ; you needn't ask 
him to listen." 

" Raise a finger, indeed !" ejaculated Salome, scornfully, 
" Ef he sarved ye right, he'd raise a horsewhip over ye. 
It's all along o' bis an' the missus' easy ways that ye're the 
good-fer-notbin' that ye are — tLo pest o' the house, lazy, 
sbifiless, pryin' thing, meddlin' in everybody's business but 
yer own." 

" Salome, that's enough," Lawrence .said, with quiet 
authority, turning to leave the room 



304 THE SUfHERLANDS, 

"Yes, yes," muttered the old woman in a suppressed 
tone, not able to head off the stream quite so suddenly, 
" it's all very fine now ; wait till there's a new missus here, 
we'll see ef Nattee won't have to stan' round then." 

" I'll die first," cried Nattee, with flashing eyes. " Ole 
nissus or new missus, you'll see if I'll be put upon — you'll 
see if I'll bear it any longer. I won't lie an' cheat like you, 
but there's other ways beside lyin' and cheatin' to show 
I'm made o' flesh an' blood, an' can sting back when I'm 
hurt too hard." 

" You young cuss !" hissed Salome between her teeth. 

" Nattee knows better than that," Lawrence said, as he 
passed out of the door. " Nattee knows she's had as much 
kindness as she has deserved all her life, and more, most 
people say. You have been a goodgu'l and faithful so far; 
don't spoil it all now." 

There was something in his tone, kind but finn, deter- 
mined but forbearing, that brought a sudden tempest of 
tears to' poor Nattee's eyes, and as the sitting-room door 
closed after him, the attic door fell to after her as she 
bounded up the stairs, blinded and panting, to fling herself 
upon her low bed and sob out her misery alone. 

" Aye, aye," muttered Salome, tightening her fat fist and 
looking most satanically ugly in her soliloquy, " aye, aye, 
mighty soft-hearted is Massa Larry. Wonder how it 'iid 
ha' been ef Amen, or Dave, or ole Salome, had sassed bun 
so. A purty mulatter wench's a different sort o' thing from 
a nigger boy black as a coal, or an ole woman ugly as the 
devil. Oh yes, my massa, bless yer heart, I know ye — ^I 
know ye. Let Salome alone for seein' through folks ; while 



1^ H E SUTHERLAND 8. 806 

tliey ain't a lookin', she's a readin'. She knows a thing or 
two ', she could tell 'em more'n they could tell 'emselves, 
maybe. She knows what makes Nattee's eyes blaze so, 
and what makes Massa Larry so terrible forbearing ^" 

She had almost forgotten that she had an auditor, till an 
indignant " Salome !" escaped from Laura's lips, and the 
old woman glanced at her, and started to find a look of 
imutterable surprise and anger on her face. Salome, after 
a moment's scrutiny, gave an inaudible chuckle, and sub- 
sided into good nature. Possibly she thought she had 
found something new to read. 

"I don' mean nothin', my chile," she said, "nothin'. 
Salome gits a little crossish onst in a while — a httle crossish 
when she sees the young folks doin' jist what they're a 
mind to do, and the ole folks beinj put down. An' it ain't 
i' the natur' o' a fine young man fike Massa Lariy not to 
feel a little sort o' sorry for a wench that's allers been 
Avorkin' her fingers to the bone to please him, ever since 
he was a laddie. He thinks more o' her naturally than o' 
ole Slomy, who's sarved him all her life, and who'd die fur 
him any day — any day." 

And Salome sighed like a great black furnace as she was. 
But ftll her sighs could not simulate the loyalty, and misery, 
and devotion of poor Nattee's tears, and Laura turned 
away, doubly disgusted and dismayed. 

" Stay, Miss Laura, chile," quoth the old woman, softly, 
following her. " Stay a minute. Don' you go now and 
say anything 'bout my bein' out o' temper, will ye ? Don't 
twit Mossa Larry 'bout his not scoldin' now, my chile. It 
tnijofht make trouble. It's all nothin' — notbin'." 



S06 TH£ SUTHEBLAND'8, 

" Your master would be very angry if I should tell liim 
what you've said," Laura returned, shrinking with involun- 
tary disgust from the familiarity of the great black band 
laid on her arm. 

" Oh," said Salome, a little alarmed, and a good deal 
" riled." " Oh, ye mustn't take all Slomy's jokes to heart 
Massa Larry wouldn't know what ye was talkin' 'bout ef 
^e did tell him. Massa Larry n^ver thought o' sicb a thing 
'^— never 1" 

" If he did !" thought Laura, as, with a haughty step and 
a very pale face, she left the kitchen. 

Oh, that she could have escaped the sitting-room just 
then I How could she look at Lawrence, and endure his 
presence after what that dreadful old woman had sug- 
gested. She could hardly control her face, or govern her 
voice as she entered the room. Captain Lacy, a glance 
told her, was leaning against the mantelpiece, watching 
anxiously the door ; Lawrence was sitting before the fire, 
leaning forward, holding Kelpie between his knees, and 
laughing oddly and merrily at her failures to sustain her- 
self in an upright attitude. Somehow, that scene with 
Kelpie and Nattee, and the fishing-tackle at his feet, flashed 
across her mind. If Salome had been right I 

Captain Lacy gave a despairing look toward Lawrence, 
and started forward to place a chair for her. At that 
moment Warren entered from the hall, and blasted her 
hopes of retreat. 

" Do you want your embroidery-frame ?" he said, as she 
sat down with a nothing-to-do, uncomfortable air, in the 
chair the captain placed at one side of the fire. 



THE SUTHEELAND8. 307 

" Yes, thank you," she said, gratefully, feeling that if she 
had to stay it would be unspeakably a relief to have occu- 
pation for eyes and hands. 

The frame stood in the farthest corner of the room. 
Warren and Captain Lacy both started for it at once, one 
dutifully, the other enthusiastically. It was rather a light 
thing to be carried by two able-bodied men, and there was 
something in a faint degree funny in the scene. Lawrence 
caught it, as he always caught the ludicrous, before any one 
else, and looking up, he said, with a laugh in his eye : 

" Excuse me, Laura, for not going too. I didn't see till 
'twas too late." 

Laura flushed angiily, not feeling a bit disposed to laugh — 
anything else — and accepted her admirer's sen'ice without 
looking up. 

*' Steadfast — let's have some more wood," cried Larry, 
pulling Kelpie's silken ears and glancing over his shoulder 
at the Httle maiden by the side-board, 

Larry had a passion for a jolly fire, and his calling for 
wood then showed he meant to enjoy an idle hour before 
it, and Laura's spirits revived ; she was safe from the ttite- 
d-t^te at least for that time. Warren sank down languidly 
upon the settle, and the captain was obliged to content him- 
self with a chair opposite, commanding a good view of 
Laura bending over her embroidery, and Larry beside her 
pinching his favorite's ears. Steady's replenishment of 
wood blazed up lustily, doing the Httle woman's heart good 
as she leaned against the jamb and gazed at it. Altogether, 
the room, homely though it was, was quite attractive 
enough to make the idea of starting out in the faco of the 



308 TH ii BUTHEBLANDff. 

cold wind extremely distasteful to the traveller. He did 
not think he had ever seen anything saore ravishing thao 
the contour of Laura's head bowed over her work, and the 
shade of her hair with the firelight playing on it ; he had 
never Imown anything more tempting and homelike than 
the whole air of the room ; its snugness, and warmth, and 
comfort appealed to his indolence and self-indulgence, its 
picturesquencss and oddity seduced his cultivated eye. He 
was spell-bound, enchanted ; how should he break the spell ? 
Every glance out at the sunbeams slanting across the snow 
gave him a goading thrust ; every glance in upon the head 
stooping over the embroidery riveted his chains. He could 
not, would not, stir till he had had his answer ; d has con- 
science, d bos all but love. 

"I am glad to see," said Warren, by way of being civil, 
" that you have concluded to remain. It would have been 
a most useless exposure to have started this afternoon." 

" Upon my word, I don't know that I have concluded to 
remain," exclaimed the military gentleman uneasily, getting 
up and walking to the window. " I don't know but it is 
best to start to-night. If we got under weigh immediately, 
I think we could make a few miles before dark, and be 
ready to stai't earlier in the morning than I should choose 
to disturb you, if I accepted your hospitality for another 
night." 

" Captain Lacy, you are incorngible," cried Larry, tosa- 
ing back the brown curls from his forehead, as he lifted 
himself up, and pushed Kelpie away. "I never threw 
away so many arguments upon any one before. I see you 
don't intend to be influenced by me. What more can b€ 



THE SUTHBBLANDS. 306 

done ? If my mother were here, she would throw the 
weight of her entreaty into the balance; and perhaps a 
woman's pleading might turn it in our favor. In her 
absence, what shall we do ? Laura, can't you speak to him ? 
See if you can move him ?" 

Laura looked up with a most unaccountable coldness, and 
an unwarrantable, though almost imperceptible, curl of the 
lip, and said steadily : 

" Is there anything I can say. Captain Lacy, to induce 
vou to remain ?" 

'* Say that you desire it and advise it. Miss Sutherland," 
he said, eagerly, in a tone that .failed notoriously in its 
intended rdle of nonchalance and trifling. 

" I do desire it and advise it," Laura answered, quietly, 
without raising her head again, but feeling Lawrence's 
searching blue eyes on her face. 

A few moments more of faintly urged objections and the 
matter was ended, and Captain Lacy threw himself into his 
easy-chair by the fire with undisguised satisfaction. 

" You should rough it in a Canadian forest for a twelve- 
month, Mr. Sutherland," he said, '* to appreciate the com- 
forts of such a home as this ; though I dare say you do not 
imdervalue it now." 

" Alas 1 my good sir, I fear I am of the ' always-to-be- 
blessed ' school. I acknowledge to finding a farmhouse a 
lamentably slow abode at just my years. JSntre nous^ I'm 
tired to death of doing nothing, and as my mother isn't 
within hearing, I may venture to say, if there's any prospect 
of business at Quebec, you may count on seeing me before 
the opening of the sprirg campaign." 



310 THE SUTHEBlrAIirDS. 

** Thanks to the 8tL of September, my dear sir, 1 am 
afraid you'll find Quebec a duller place than this : Canada 
is ours ; Monsieur will never raise his head again there, 
though he swears and gesticulates at a fearful rate, helpless 
as he is. I feel the fun is over, and heartily wish we may 
be ordered home before the spring opens. But it is a thoii- 
land pities, if you longed for action, that you did not set 
your face northward a year ago. You would have seen a 
glorious day, sir, if you had — a day worth twenty yuars^ of 
exposure, fatigue, and disappointment/' 

"Ah, if!" exclaimed Larry, impatiently, bringing hvS 
hand down on the arm of has ehair, resoundingly, " The 
business of my life has been to miss opportunities ; nothing 
but the merest chance detained me at home. Two years 
ago this autumn, I had every arrangement made for joining 
the army — ^family matters alone stood in the way of my 
plans." 

*' Alone i" I'epeated Warren. "It strikes me, Larry, it 
must be a pretty loud call from king and country that 
drowns the <3all of family in an honest man's ears. I do 
not think you can reproach yourself for your decision ; it 
was love of adventure sacrificed to filial duty, and though 
I've never had an opportunity of telling you before, let me 
say, I have honored you for it, ever since I heard of the 
occurrence." 

" Ha ! Master Parson, have you taken to fine speeches ! 
Upon my word, I thought better of you. I begin to sus- 
pect you wear the badge of one Ignatius Loyola some- 
where beneath your garments. Resei-ve your praise till my 
virtue is a little older ; I won't io to swear by yet, Plea^^ 



THE SUTHEELANDS. 311 

heaven, I am off before two months are over to Hunt 
Cherokees in the Carolinas, sail before the mast to the West 
Indies, or failing those occupations, to turn highwayman ot 
pirate. Anything to blow off the cobwebs." 

" Anything to get rid of your duty, you mean." 

" Yes, that's what I mean, parson." 

"Well, we will not quarrel, Larry; but you canno^ 
frighten me, I know you much too well." 

" No, I'm hanged if you do I" cried Larry. " You're a 
very decent fellow, and very clever, as parsons go, but you 
haven't seen through me yet. Thunder ! I shouldn't won- 
der if he'd put me down on his list with Steady and Rube, 
imder the head of hopeful." 

" You give me credit, then, for a larger charity than I 
deserve," said the young clergyman, quietly, but in a tone 
that was quite divested of badinage. Warren never gave 
the impression of being strait-laced and unbending; he 
had not forsworn laughter, but his wit was held in strictest 
curb, and never, even in the remotest degree, trenched on the 
ground his office covered. The care of souls was too rigid 
an employment to allow of much relaxation, and his relaxa- 
tions, whenever he took them, must be most distinct from 
that employment. No light or trifling word must ever be 
admitted in connection with it ; no foolish talking or jesting 
ever be allowed to lower the sense of its. importance in his 
own mind or in the minds of others. It required a firm 
and delicate hand to draw the line ; but Warren's hand was 
firm and delicate, and he drew it most correctly. If he had 
been a man of the world from his youth, he could hardly 
nave had greater knowledge of the world than his intuitive 



312 THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 

perception of character gave him. Such clearness of sight 
is apt to make a man keen, and cold, and sneering ; but the 
star of Warren Sutherland's heavenly wisdom had early 
risen, high and pure above the lights of his earthly wisdom; 
hiij faith had eclipsed his shrewdness, his charity had out 
grown his wit, his earnestness had overtopped his mirthful- 
ness. 

" The only minister," as Captain Lacy had said to Law- 
rence that morning, after breakfast, through clouds of 
smoke, "the only minister I ever saw who did not tell 
funny stories about his brother ministers, and recount the 
blunders of clerks, and choirs, and sextons.** 

" I like to see a man that has the sense to magnify his 
office, or at least to dignify it," Larry answered. " Warren 
Sutherland would have added consequence and strength to 
anything he might have undertaken; he has undertaken 
the greatest duty that a man can undertake, and he fills it 
greatly." 

Short, strong, and sudden, certainly ; and he of the red 
coat was not entirely sure he heard aright ; it was a very 
extraordinary sentiment to come from such a highhanded, 
laughing, reckless, prodigal-son style of fellow as his young 
host. But before he had rammed the idea through his 
buckram and broadcloth, Larry was back again to common- 
places and he only remembered the remark that afternoon, 
to wonder stiU more at the familiar disrespect with which 
the young man treated the object of his veneration. 

" Warren," he cried, snapping his handkerchief in Kel- 
pie's eye«, who lay with her nose upon liis boot, " Warren, 
I was wondering, the other day, what you'd Jo with a huge 



THE SUTHEBLAND8. 313 

fortune, if you had it. It was a question with me whether 
you'd buy up and send home all the slaves in the British 
dependencies, and enjoy the sight of a black streak of colo- 
nists all the way from here to Africa, or whether you'd get 
communion-services and altar-cloths for all the Enghsh 
churches in the colonies. I can't make out whether you 
stake your hopes of salvation upon your churchmanship or 
your philanthropy.'* 

"Shall I say it has been equally a question with me 
whether you most pride yourself upon your irreverence or 
your insincerity?" said Warren. 

" Why, no, I wouldn't have you say it," Lawrence re- 
turned, with a laugh, **for it might raise a doubt in my own 
mind, and at present I am equally balanced about the mat- 
ter of self-respect, I have no particular bias in favor of 
either hypocrisy or heathenism, but grow both imder the 
came glass." / 

" Then I will not attempt to unsettle your complacency," 
said Warren, in a voice that was quite end-of-controversy 
in itrs tone, though thoroughly well-bred and quiet. Law- 
rence accepted the edict, though he would not have 
received it from any one else, and contented himself with a 
wicked look of significance at him and another twist of 
Kelpie's ears. Laura, commendably anxious to change the 
theme, asked Captain Lacy, abruptly, if he had often books 
fj om home, and if papers reached him regularly in 
Canada. 

*' Very irregularly," Captain Lacy said. " I fear, Miss 
Sutherland, I shall get very rusty in all that appertains to 
letters. It is the worst feature of this business of expatria- 

14 



314 THE SUTHESLANDB. 

tion. One feels wretchedly lost, when one gets home, to 
find even the children ahead of one in the literature of the 
day. I have left strict orders to have all the periodicals 
and new books of note forwarded to me, but I find I am 
very indifferently supplied. Out of sight, out of mind, even 
with booksellers, Miss Sutherland." 

" If it only stopped with the booksellers I" said Laura, 
half involuntarily. 

*'By the way," remarked Captain Lacy, "I have not 
thought before to ask you of our friends at Briarfield and 
Hntonbury Park — do you hear often from them, and are 
they well ?" 

" I do not hear very often," said Laura, looking down. 
" They have been on the Continent this summer, and in 
travelling, you know, one does not find much time for 
letter-writing." 

"How many regrets you must feel for that beautiful 
Parsonage !" said Captain Lacy, with truly remarkable 
awkwardness of judgment. " Into whose hands has it 
passed ?" 

" It is unoccupied," Laura returned, in a low tone ; and 
Captain Lacy went on to recall his memories of it, and of 
the church and neighborhood, while Warren sat looking 
steadily and quietly into the fire, not expressing by look m 
gesture the pain it gave him to hear that discussed which 
even with Laura he did not dare fully to revive. After the 
first shrinking in Laura's mind, however, there was a reac- 
tion ; it became a delight to talk with one who knew and 
admired those scenes so much, and who only remembered 
them with pleasure, not as Warren did, to whom her most 



THE SITTHEK LANDS. 315 

innocent recollection was a pang. Larry watched her 
thoughtfully, as she was gradually drawn into the current 
of reminiscence; she dropped her work from her hands, 
and leant forward on her embroidery-frame, with a look 
of animation on her fac6 that he had never seen there before. 

" "Was not that a sweet morning," she said, forgetting 

hat she had any auditor but Captain Lacy, " the morning 

of the archery meeting. I never shall forget it ; the lawn 

was so green and velvety, and the people were so gaily 

dressed, and everything had such a festival look." 

And the officer forgot he had any other auditor, as he 
said in a low voice, " And the walk through the silver 
birches." 

" Ah," exclaimed Laura, " there are no such woods here 
as the Hiltonbury woods. These vast forests are so strange, 
so wild, I am half in awe of them. I shall never learn to 
love them as I did the woods at home. The tangled under- 
brush and briery thickets give me a sense of desolation and 
strangeness. I long to see the sunshine flicker down upon 
the sward once more, and to catch glimpses of the sky 
through the dark stems of English oaks ! But I suppose 
It's only because I am timid and foolish ; I often think how 
different it would be with Georgy. She used to drag me away 
with her to a desolate old estate adjoining Hiltonbury, 
where there was almost a primeval wilderness of beeches 
and firs, and enjoy nothing more than the wildness and soli- 
tude of it, and the danger which my fears helped her to 
oelieve in. She hated parks and pleasure-grounds, and 
longed to be away from them all. But Georgy was always 
impatient of home." 



316 THE SUTHKBLANDS. 

" How great a contrast Miss Gregory formed to you !" 
said Captain Lacy. " I liave often thought of it. Do you 
remember the morning after the archery ball, when I was 
so happy as to be admitted to the library, where you and 
she sat reading ?" 

" Oh, how well I remember that morning !" exclaimed 
Laura, with lustrous eyes. " I was trying to make Greorgy 
read the * Faerie Queen " and like it ; but she cauld not ; 
she never seemed to understand it, even though she read it 
80 well. Don't you think she read very well, CaptaiD 
Lacy ?" 

" Why, no. Miss Sutherland. It seemed to me she read 
almost too impatiently, too rapidly ; her thought ran before 
her voice and left it to do its work alone. I noticed it 
particularly when she read what she most admired, that 
passage from * Rasselas.' " 

"Ah yes, I remember that; 'Rasselas' was just new, and 
we had finished it only the week before. But is it not 
strange, one with so strong fealing as Georgy and such a 
fine fancy, should not love Spenser ?" 

" I remember," said Captain Lacy, " that she said of him, 
she exhausted herself with disposing of his eccentricities 
and reducing his metaphors to reason before she got at his 
thought, and when she got it it was hardly worth the 
pains. She had thought it herself, \n common language, 
half a dozen times." 

**That was more than half perversity though, because 
Warren and I liked it so much ; but it was partly honesty; 
purely imaginary works never gave her real pleasure, only 
strong, stirring human things kindled her enthusiasm. She 




THE SUTHEBLANDS. 817 

never would read my fairy books when we were children, 
and stuck pins In the pictures of Christian in * Pilgrim's 
Progress ' when her mother condemned her to it on Sunday 
afternoons. Poor Georgy I I wonder if she wouldn't prefer 
Allegory to Reality now !" 

" Is she still at Briarfield, Miss Sutherland ?" asked tho 
gentleman. 

" No," faltered Laura, casting a frightened look- toward 
her brother, remembering for the first time what pain she 
must have been inflicting, " I think — we heard — that is — 
she was to be married on the first of this month." 

" Ah, indeed ! Not to Sir Charies ?" 

Laura made a gesture of assent and bent over her work. 

" I am surprised at that," went on the unconscious tor- 
turer. " I could not help seeing Sir Charles' devotion, short 
as my stay at Borringdon was. But I thought her recep- 
tion of it anytliing but indicative of hope for him. She 
liked the love, but not the lover ; ^d though I thought 
time perhaps might wear her resistance out, I never could 
have believed she would have sacrificed herself so soon." 

" It did not surprise me. Captain Lacy," Laura said, in a 
low tone. " I knew Georgy was ambitious." 

" ' The infii-mity of noble minds,' " he said. " Neverthe- 
less, Miss Sutherland, does it seem to you in character for 
Miss Gregory to marry her cousin, of whom she was always 
sure, before she had tried the world at all, or received her 
meed of homage, or indeed before she knew her own mind ? 
I cannot but be surprised at it ; I thought there was too 
much romance and self-will as well as worldly wisdom 
about her ; though perhaps she has suffered some reverse 



318 THE SUTHEBLANDS 

of fortune, some disappointment that has brought her to it 
in desperation." 

" No, none that I know of," Laura said sadly ; but before 
she had ended her sentence, the door closed after Warren, 
and Lawrence, striding after him, would have left them to 
the dreaded t^te-d-tete^ had not Steady, who had stolen to 
the window and was gazing longingly out into the snow, 
exclaimed, startled out of her habitual decorum, by some 
unusual apparition, " Oh, Miss Laura ! oh, Master Law- 
rence ! Look, look what's coming !" 

And Lawrence, in no mood to be pleased with anything 
that might come, and Laura, unable to think of anything 
just then but the Hiltonbury coach in all its familiar and 
well-remembered gloiy, turned away from the window after 
their hurried glance out, with a disappointed " Oh! la 
that all ?»' 



CHAPTER XX. 

A SLEIGH-BIDE. 

" The world belongs to the brave." 

Lawrence was a notoriously ungrateful rascal, or he 
would never have said, " Is that all ?" when he looked out 
of the window, for he beheld Cicily van Hansen being 
lifted from a mass of buffalo robes and blankets, by the 
stout arms of Nick van Veohtin, and set upon her feet 
inside the gate, upon the shovelled path that led to the front 
door. Cicily looked as bright and pretty as possible as she 
glanced coquettishiy back upon the sleigh-load of youths and 
maidens outside the gate, who cried out to her in Dutch 
to make haste, and to whom she responded in the same 
clumsy speech, that she should be just as long as ever she 
could be. The horses shook their great jangling bells, the 
youths and maidens laughed their merry, careless laughter, 
the sun was just going down clear and golden, behind 
the icy Catskills, leaving the vast white glittering low- 
lands still aglow ; and all the scene, with Cicily, rosy- 
cheeked and bright-eyed, in the foreground, should have 
struck Master Larry with delight and admiration. Instead 
of which, he ground hi^ teeth and swore an inoffensive 
oath under his breath, and then met Cicily and Nick half- 
way down the path with a most hypocritical smile of 
welcome. 

819 



\\20 THE SUTHERLANDS. 

" Quick, quick !" cried that imperious young beauty. 
* Where's Miss Sutnerland ? We've come for her ; we're 
going over to Vrow van Bokkelin's — such splendid sleigh- 
ing — there's two loads of us, and we're going to stop for 
the Schunemans. Quick ! don't waste time ; they'll be out 
of patience." 

Lawrence saw in a moment how it stood ; there was no 
iielp for them, they must go ; so after conducting the two 
pioneers into the sitting-room, and enjoying Laura's blank, 
overwhelmed speechlessness for one or two minutes, he 
said : " Oh, well, we'll go, of course. Laura, you had 
better wrap up well, only be quick.' 

"But, Lawrence, my aunt " 

* Oh, Nattee can do everything for her ; you must go." 

" But Warren may not want " 

" Oh, Warren will understand ; there's no use in asking 
him to go. Captain Lacy, there is a fur cloak at your ser- 
vice, but you are used to the cold. Nick, won't the rest 
of 'em come in while Miss Sutherland is putting on her 
wrappers ?" 

"No, no," said Nick, sturdily. "They can't unpack 
again." 

Poor Laura gave a troubled glance out of the window at 
the promiscuously packed sleigh-loads, and Lawrence's 
heart was smitten with compassion for her. , 

" I'll tell you, Cicily," he said, " there isn't room enough 
for threfe more people in either of those sleighs. Let them 
drive on, and the men shall get the black nags before ours 
m no time ; you stay and go with us, and we'll overhaul 
'em in less than a mile," 



THE SUTHERLAND S. 321 

" Very well," said Cicily, contented with any arrange- 
ment that bestowed her upon Lawrence. 

" And Katrina?" murmured Laura, hesitatingly, full of the 
haunting horror of a tete-d-tete, "Will she not go with us ?•' 

" Perhaps so," said Lawrence. *' I'll go and see. Come, 

Nick." 

In marvellously quick time it was all effected ; the spur 

of Lawrence's strong will never was applied to better pur- 

pose ; in ten minutes the black nags stood before the gate, 

shaking their unaccustomed bells with more curiosity than 

complacency, and jerking the narrow, high-backed sleigh 

alarmingly with their spasmodic restlessness. Rube held 

their heads with the hand of a master, while Lawrence 

lifted Laura in, buried to the eyes in fur, then handed 

Katrina to the seat beside her. Cicily sprang in and appro- 

priated the front seat and seized the reins, while Captain 

Lacy was condemned to that intermediate state which, in 

old-fashioned sleighs, was no imaginary purgatory, being a 

narrow, backless, uncushioned board, ordinarily consecrate 

to such minors or servitors as were obliged to travel with 

the family. 

" Captain Lacy, I am afraid you have not a very comfort- 
able seat," said Lawrence, looking back the first minute 
that he could spare from the horsea. 

" On the contrary, it is most comfortable, Mr. Suther- 
land," returned the guest, seeing only that it was opposite 
to Laura's. 

The black ponies, famous alike for their ill-looks, bad 
temper and good going, 'had put down their shaggy 
heads, and were making telling use of their shaggy aiid 

14* 



322 THE SUTHESLANDS. 

uncouth legs. They were going like the wind — ^indeed, the 
wind proper, of which there was not much, was at their 
backs ; enveloped in furs and wrappers as the party were, 
it was impossible to feel the cold. Laura sank down in this 
warm wealth of furs, and leaned her cheek against the pro- 
tecting back of the sleigh, towering three feet in the air, 
with the sensation of luxury and exhilaration that nothing 
but sliding over the snow in a well-lined sleigh can give. 
There is no other way of traversing 

" The land's lap or the water's breast " 

• 

with so little motion, witb such a swift sense of flight, 
with such a magic smoothness. Boats have oars and pad- 
dles, or sails and ropes — must gibe and tack and luff and 
reef; carriages, .the easiest of them, bounce and joggle and 
bump and tip, if the road is anything but adamant ; nothing 
save a sleigh can glide along for hours and hours without a 
suggestion of the earth it passes over, with the swiftness of 
flight, with the tranquillity of sleep, with utter luxury and 
abandon. 

The sun had gone down, and the sky was fast assuming 
an evening tone, bright, still, about the horizon, but deep- 
ening and darkening toward the zenith, and right before 
them, far in the north, hanging over their distant path, 
came out a star, " with royal beauty bright," fabulously 
fair and lustrous. Laura, gazing at it, felt as if it were 
their destination, as if they would glide on — on to the 
music of those low munnuring bells, till " starlight mingled 
with the stars," and the vast, white plain of earth lay far 
below them; a delicious dreaminess stole over her, from 



THE 8UTHEBLAND8. 323 

which she could not endure the thought of waking, Ka- 
trina, always dull, was thankful that she did not have tc 
talk, and Captain Lacy, gazing at Laura's fair, white, 
dreamy face, found his pleasure in silence, too. If the 
lovers beyond had voices, they were too low to reach them, 
and on they flew, past fields of unsullied white, and groves 
of icy-crested trees, and cottages covered with snow with- 
out, and twinkling with lights within ; and more stars came 
out, and the horizon grew dark blue like the upper sky, but 
still the great north star shone in splendor, and stiU they 
sped on through the night, directly in his very eye. Once 
there came a jar, a confusion of conflicting sounds, as they 
shot past their fellow voyagers, and were greeted with 
shout and laugh and challenge. But soon the sounds died 
away far behind them, and the charm asserted itself but 
jarred, not broken. Laura wished it never might be 
broken ; she never wished to rouse from this enchantment. 
The star seemed to grow brighter and nearer and then 
further and fainter ; one moment it seemed to stoop almost 
within her grasp, at another it seemed to sUde away — away 
— and, lapped in softest dreams, she slept. 

" Laura, wake up 1 we're here." 

" Where ? — oh !" exclaimed Laura, roused by the rude 
shock of pause, and impatient and fretful as a baby waked 
by the stopping of his cradle's motion. 

" You've been asleep behind there, I vow," cried Cicily, 
springing out into the snow and tottering rather helplessly 
into the path, as they paused before the gate of the Van 
Bokkelin mansion. 

" I don't know who has been asleep," said Laura, pet- 



32i THE SUTHESLANDS. 

tishly, rubbing her eyes and trying to regain some fiimiliar 
sensation in her limbs that should assure her of their iden- 
tity with the limbs she had left home with. But they were 
so stiff and helpless and odd, and she felt so thoroughly 
cross and chilly, that she could hardly answer Captain 
Lacy civilly when he asked her if she was cold, and said 
pettishly to Lawrence, when he came to lift her out of her 
environment of fur, 

" What place is this ? What's the use of getting out ?" 

" No particular use, if you don't mind sitting out here 
two or three hours in the cold, till the ponies are rested and 
the people ready to go home." 

Laura turned her head petulantly away and laid her cheek 
against the fur ; she was not more^than half awake, and did 
not feel more than ten years old. Captain Lacy was assist- 
ing Katrina to alight from the other side of the sleigh, so 
Lawrence, sitting down on the edge of the seat, said delib- 
rately, and as if he had all night before him : 

" Well, Laura, what do you say ? Shall I help you out, 
or shall I tell the man to drive round to the bam ?" 

*' I don't care," she said, twisting her head deeper in the 
fur. 

Lawrence, perhaps, had grown a little weaned from tho 
beauty and elegance and loveliness that was so far above 
his reach, 

" Love's heroic strain 

Had tired the heart and brought no gain/' 

but now he stooped, eased and relieved, before tlus ohildisb, 
pouting change of mood, enslaved afresh, but desperately 
reckless of his chains 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 325 

"You don't care? Well, then, to the barn, Pom- 
pey." 

He had the reins over o.e arm and with the other held 
himself in the sleigh, sitting on the edge of it with his feet 
u\ the snow. The sobered ponies started toward the bam, 
the man leading them ; at which motion Miss Laura started 
up and said, " Stop ! Oh, take me out !" 

"Oh, ho!" cried Larry, pulling up the horses, "I can 
take you out, can I ? Well, come, then." 

He pushed aside the furs and lifted her in his arms. He 
did not put her down upon the snow, but held his arm very 
firmly round her as he strode toward the path, some dis- 
tance down which the others stood waiting for them. 

" Let me walk," murmured Laura hurriedly. 

" Why can't I carry you ? I've carried you before, you 
know." 

His face was so close to hers she heard him, husky and 
low and strange as his voice was, but she did not try to 
answer him. 

" Well, I hope you are awake now !" cried Cicily, with a 
spiteful sting in her voice, as Lawrence placed Laura in the 
path and approached them. Yes, Laura was awake, most 
thoroughly awake, though she answered rather low, and 
started forward to the side of Captain Lacy and Katrina 
hurriedly and confusedly. 

"Larry, you and Cicily go first and meet the vrow; 
Bee, the door is opening," cried Katrina, pushing hor 
younger sister forward. Cicily naturally took precedence 
of her sisters when there was any speaking to be done ; 
tlie " you're-a-scholar " feeling always promptCvl them to 



326 fUE SUTHEBLA.NDS. 

shrink behind her, and her unwavering sense of superiority 
always prompted her to take the lead. 

Vrow van Bokkelin was a big, broad-faced, loud-voice J, 
good-natured matron, always ready to further the \^ishes 
of " the young folks," always ready to turn the house inside 
out for their amusement, and the very one, in short, to be 
surprised agreeably by a descent of thirty hungry pleasure- 
seekers at an unheard-of hour of night. She had no child- 
ren of her own worth mentioning ; a lank, shy, unmanage- 
able son, who always took to the attic when there was 
company, and a peaked little girl of nine, who generally hid 
in her mother's skirts and cried when anybody spoke to her. 
The good man of the house was one of those chimney-cor- 
ner saints who always marry big women and lead uncom- 
plaining lives of servitude ; though, as he was well-clothed 
and well-fed in return for his services, and was under a 
thrifty rule, perhaps, according to the laws of natural jus- 
tice, he had nothmg to complain of. 

"Vail noo, vail noo, 'dis is goote!" cried the vrow, 
standing open-armed in the door, followed by a wondering 
train of swarthy retainers. " Cicily van Hansen and Larry 
Sutherland ! Vail noo, vail noo, I knew you'd come ; I've 
been a lookin' for you all de day." 

And she folded Cicily to her capacious bosom before the 
latter could deliver herself of her intended speech. Indeed, 
Vrow van Bokkelin did not require much of her guests be- 
yond a wide power of receptivity. 

*' And dis is de pretty girl from England, ish it ? Oh 
my, oh my, how white she ish I Come in, come in, my 
dear ; I'm glad to see ye. And here's Katrina I Vail noo 



THE SUTHERLANDS. 327 

Katnna, it dosh me goote to see ye. Where's Nick, eh ? 
Corain' ? Ah, veil, he von't pe long pehind you, I know 
dat. And dis is a strange gentleman as I don't know at all ; 
veil, dat's no matter, sir, I'm glad to see you jis the same, 
j is the same. Come in all, come in all ; dere's a goote fire 
noo, and dere'll be a goote supper before long. Des lazy 
winches, noo ! Stir yourselves and get de fires a blazin' ; 
oe quick ! be quick ! light de big lamp and snuff de candles ; 
des folks am frozed, I know." 

And talking loudly and unceasingly, and hovering as 
many of the stranger brood as she could gather under her 
broad wings, she led them into the family room, where they 
were met by a meek greeting from a thin man at the fire- 
side, and by the hasty bang of a side-door, through which 
they caught a glimpse of a retreating pair of cowhide boots 
and the flutter of a flying coat-tail. There certainly was a 
glorious and hospitable fire upon the hearth, and light and 
warmth and supper enough got up to have sufiiced for the 
entertainment of the whole country side, before the last 
detachment arrived. Such greetings, such laughing, such 
noise ! Laura tried not to look strange or uncomfortable, 
though, indeed, it did not make much difference how any 
body looked. The hospitable hostess did not stop to see 
what impression her hospitality produced upon her guests, 
but bustled and scolded and welcomed and questioned all 
in the same breath, and without expecting any result or 
waiting for any answer. 

Most of the entertained were accustomed to the manner 
of their entertainer, but it quite appalled the English stran- 
gers, who could hardly recove;* themselves enough to talk 



I 



328 THE BUTHERLANUb. 

to each other. It was even worse when they sat down to 
supper. Fate (for no one else had any hand in the aiTange- 
ment of the visitors at the board) threw Laura between 
Nick van Vechtin and Ratrina van Hansen, both blessed 
with the most unloverlike and undainty appetites, and both 
most anxious for the temporal well-being of the young, 
stranger. They urged vociferously upon her the strange, 
uncouth, unsavory Dutch dishes which were their own espe- 
cial favorites, and made her quite faint with the prodigality 
and persistency of their attentions. Accustomed to the far- 
mer-like profusion, but substantial elegance of her uncle's 
table, thoroughly English in its style and tone, she was en- 
tirely bewildered by this first glimpse at Dutch farm-life, 
"Is this the sort of life Cicily van Hansen leads?" she pon- 
dered ; " can it be that Larry finds her in such a home as 
this ? The love must bo pretty strong that reconciles him." 
But there is a great deal in familiarity with repulsive 
things : after the supper-table was cleared away from the 
floor and the chairs pushed back against the wall, and the 
negro fiddler summoned, Laura's shyness began to thaw 
considerably ; she became acclimated to the loud tones of 
the vrow, and the noisy manners of the young women, and 
began to think that, after all, they were vory good-natured, 
and perhaps at heart as modest as the ladies to whose soci- 
ety she had been accustomed. They were very pretty, too, 
some of them. The Van Hausens were, par excellence, the 
belles, but there were, besides them, several stiikingly fine 
pieces of flesh and blood, all of the Dutch type, but vaiied 
considerably by English intermixtures. They were all, 
however, quite as shy of her as she was of thorn, and much 



THE SDTHEBLANDS. 329 

less graceful in the expression of their feelings. The youtho, 
who evidently regarded her as a marvel of beauty and un- 
approachableness, were rendered unspeakably gauche by 
their admiration, and most of them let her alone altogether, 
and kept as far out of the way as possible. She was quite 
ignorant of their approval, however, and of the envious 
wonder of the young fraulein, so her manner did not lof;e 
its pretty timidity and unconscious humbleness, which 
formed, perhaps, her principal charm. 

There was something in the thought of dancing, no 
matter to w^hat music and with what spectators, quite 
exhilarating to one so long exiled from pleasure, and Laura 
found herself actually happy when she accepted Captain 
Lacy*s hand for a reel, and took her place upon the floor. 
Profiting by the experience of the previous evening, the 
military hero was much more humble and unassuming, and 
soon showed his really good dancing and ready faculty of 
imitation. 

"Miss Sutherland," he whispered, after the first set, 
"you will not dance with any of these — these persons; 
promise me that. Let me be your partner." 

" If you choose," she said, with a brighter smile than any 
he had had before. Lawrence, coming to her side that 
moment, said in a low tone, " Laura, I want you to dance 
with me this one reel." 

Lawrence's manner had been difierent from his habitual 
easy one all the evening. He had been silent and moody, 
interesting himself little with the amusements going on, 
talking with no one but his frightened, meek-looking host| 
and watching the dancing silently by his side. 



% 



*J30 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

" A quarrel with Cicily," was Laura's interpretation. 

" A jealous fit about the red-coat," was Cicily*s reading. 

" The deuce is to pay with young mine host !*' thought 
C-aptain Lacy. 

" He's such a thundercloud, he'd turn milk by looking 
at it once," the damsels whispered, and the swains indorsed^ 
but none dared rate him, or amuse themselves at his 
expense in any but the lowest tone. Whatever the cause 
of his mood, however, it was evidently a vindictive and 
unapproachable one, and Laura, not at all strong-minded 
nor at all strong-nerved, made her refusal to dance with 
him in a very uncertain and frightened voice. Captain 
Lacy had gone away for a moment, to be devoured by his 
hostess, who had just learned he was a hero fresh from the 
French war, and Lawrence, leaning back in his place 
against the wall, looked down with folded arms and lower- 
ing brow upon his cousin, who stood playing with the 
ribbons of her stomacher, and looking as if she longed to 
have him go away. 

"Well, then, I will come for you td dance the next 
dance with me after this." 

"I can't — I promised," and then she stopped and 
blushed. 

" Who — did you say you promised ?" he asked, stooping 
his head, and speaking in a most uncomfortable voice, 
Laura glanced around miserably to see if no one were 
at hand to help her out of this, but Captain Lacy was not 
in sight at all, and all the rest were as far off as they couM 
get conveniently, so she faltered, " Captain Lacy,»» and 
then her cousin strode away, and left her standing all alone 



,TU£ SUTHEBLANDS. 331 

and perfectly wretched. What had she done ; what should 
she do ? If he only would come back, she would dance 
forty reels with him, and do exactly anything he told her. 
But he was gone ; she and Cicily both watched the door in 
vain for his return, and the pleasure of the evening wa& 
over for both of them. 

Not until the revellers, cloaked and hooded, stood in th 
hall ready to depart, did he make his appearance. It was 
curious to note the different effect of the occurrence upon 
the two women most interested in it. Cicily was flash- 
ingly, tempestuously piqued and angry, Laura was quiet 
as a statue, with a shade of anxiety and wistfulness upon 
her face however, not often expressed in marble. She slid 
from the embrace of the great vrow with a noiseless 
evasiveness, and hurried down the path. The Sutherland 
sleigh stopped the way, but Cicily was there before her, 
coquetting most audaciously with the militaiy gentleman, 
and asserting that she would ride inside, come what might. 
Katriria was already comfortable in her former comer, and 
as there was no one to contradict Miss Cicily, of course she 
had her own way and her rival's place. 

Laura stood undetermined a moment, while Captain 
Lacy urged her taking the middle seat, and not exposing 
herself to the cold wind by riding with Larry, and 
Larry stood waiting in a most indifferent do-as-you-pleast 
way. 

" What shall I do ?" she said, hesitatingly looking fron 
fone to the other. " I donH mind the wind, and the front 
^Qat's more comfortable.*' 

" It's much colder than when we came, Miss Sutherland.'' 



832 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

" But I am so wrapped up, and I like to be where 1 caij 
see the horses." 

A moment more, and she was reigning in Cicily's vacated 
place, but to all appearance, rather a triste young queen. 
After they were fairly under weigh, Larry vouchsafed not 
more than a sentence per mile on an average, and that on 
no suggestive or productive plan. 

The moon had come out excellently bright, but the star 
was at their back, and all the dreaminess and magic had 
gone with the sight of it. But if the companions outside 
had nothing to entertain each other with but jealousy and 
anger and reserve, those inside were "jolly companions 
every one," and were making the most of each other. 
Cicily was wild with fun and spirits, real or assumed, 
Katrina, even, was waked to jollity, and Captain Lacy fell 
readily into the prevailing mood. Fag ends of their jokes 
strayed on to those in front, and Laura turned often, half 
curious to know what made them so vociferously merry, but 
either from pique or absent-mindedness, they were obli- 
vious of an outside circle, and confined their merriment 
within themselves. 

It was a long, long ride ; how long, none knew so well as 
Laura. She did not feel sleepy now — so far from it, she 
wondered how she could have slept before. She was cold, 
too, and tired, and a great deal more than that. Every 
burst of laughter from the party behind her, made her 
uncomfortable in one way, and every stolen glance at 
Larry's stubborn face beside her, made her wretched in 
another. The very glitter of the moonbeams and the 
music of the bells were all so many torments and discon^ 



i 



THE StJTHERLANDS. 383 

forts How strange the woods and rocks looked! Was 
it possible she could have slept all this way before, or 
did it look so differently by starlight, or was it another 
road? 

" How many miles have we come ?" she could not help 
asking of Larry at last, in a very weary tone. 

" About fourteen, I think," he said, glancing carelessly 
around to see his whereabouts. 

"And it is nineteen from the Van Bokkelins* to the 
Flats ?" 

" Yes, nearly twenty." 

An involuntary, irrepressible sigh escaped her. " You're 
tired," he said, looking down at her. 

" A little." 

" You'll be much more comfortable inside. I'll stop the 
horses and put you over there." 

"No, thank you," very shortly, and they went on in 
more solemn silence than before. By and by, however, 
they approached a turn in the road, around which the wind 
whistled pretty strongly, and Laura put her head down in 
the furs. 

*' You'd better take my advice," said Larry, laconically. 

" Very well," said Latira, with a flash of spirit which per- 
haps the young gentleman had not fully expected. He 
drew up the reins very suddenly, and Laura, turning 
around, said quickly : 

" Captain Lacy, it is cold out here ; may I change my 
mind ?" 

"-^ la bonne heure/^^ cried the gentleman, starting for* 
ward with empressement, and speaking in French and 



334 THE 8UTHEKLANDB. 

quickly. "Have you punished me enough, Miss Suther- 
land ?» 

" I have not punished any one but myseli^" she returned, 
in the same language, manifestly embarrassed. 

Now Cicily did not know French, but the gentleman's 
one was one which nobody at all familiar with the lan- 
guage of flirtation could misunderstand, and she felt herself 
bitterly ill-used at such a requital of all her pains. For 
fourteen miles she had lavished smiles upon him, and this 
"was the return he made her. The very instant Laura con 
descended to address him, he was back at her feet again 
more devoted than before. When she got tired of Lany, 
forsooth she called the captain again ! It must not be 
supposed Cicily kept her temper ; a serener girl would have 
lost hers under such a trial. 

Larry said " whoa " several times very emphatically, but 
the ponies did not whoa at all, and then he stood up, and 
gave them more emphasis in connection with his whiplash. 
At length they seemed to acknowledge his authority, how- 
ever, and with many shakings of their bells, and after 
much uneasy motion of their shaggy feet, they stood 
comparatively still. The spot they had chosen for their 
momentary halt, certainly was not a happily chosen one. 
The road they were travelling then was not the one by 
which they had gone to the Van Bokkelins', but a by-road, 
into which Lawrence had turned after Laura's weary-toned 
question. It was shorter by two miles than the highway, 
but rough and uncertain at all times, and doubly so with a 
foot and a half of snow over it, and the track perfectly 
unbeaten. But Larry was of fearless blood, and in a 



THE SUTREBLANDS. 835 

reckless mood. He had driven all sorts of horses over all 
sorts of roads at all sorts of hours, and had never broken 
his own neck, nor the necks of any of those intrusted to 
him. The thought of Laura's discomfort was insuppor' 
table to him in just his present mood, and he was so 
thoroughly desperate, his good judgment suffered a 
temporary eclipse, and he turned doggedly into the 
dangerous road, with the unwise confidence that he would 
get out of it " somehow," and no doubt it would all come 
out right. 

Nothing was further from its intention, however. The 
road where they had stopped wound around the base of 
the mountain ; above them, on the right, was an unbroken 
forest; below them, on the left, descending sharp down 
from the road, was a deep ravine, where a clearing had 
been lately made, and where the gaunt trees, still standing, 
threw gaunter shadows on the snow beneath. Some brush- 
wood and logs lay on the edge of the road a hundred 
yards beyond the present-stopping place, and at these 
phenomena, in their envelopment of white, the ponies were 
casting fearful glances, and were moving their ears to and 
fro with apprehensive nervousness. Larry cast a glance at 
them that was not without apprehension, but " guessed 
he could do it," so planting his feet firmly, he drew the 
reins over his arm, held his hands out to Laura, and was 
just helping her over the seat, when Cicily, with some 
saucy preface, burst into a ringing laugh. 

That was just all that was needed. The half timid, half 
vicious brutes gave a violent start, then, before Larry could 
recover the reins, plunged forward, swinging the sleigh 
after them, and throwing Larry forward with Laura on. h.\ft 



336 THE BUTHEBLAN1>S. 

arm, apon the seat. A cry burst from the frightened girls 
in the rear, and a deep imprecation from the lips of the 
helpless driver, who struggled in vain to recover the reins, 
realizing more than his companions, the dangers upon 
which they were rushing, and realizing, too, most fully, his 
utter helplessness. He was supporting Laura with his 
light hand ; if he withdrew that, in her present position, 
the next sudden motion of the sleigh would throw her out, 
and veiy little progress he naturally made in getting the 
mastery of the fiery horse flesh in front of Ihem with his 
left hand, entangled and impeded at that. Laura gave one 
fearful look ahead at the horses, with their ears laid back, 
their necks strained forward, and then she shut her eyes 
and lay quite still. 

What a horrible moment of suspense and silence, as they 
dashed forward — choked, stifled, paralyzed with fear; 
nothing to be done but to wait for whatever might be 
coming — to meet their fate, whatever it might be 
— their lives at the mercy of those devil-ridden beasts. It 
seemed hours instead of minutes. Then there came a 
sudden lunging of the sleigh to the right, the sharp 
branch of an over-hanging tree stioick heavily on Larry's 
arm, and with an exclamation of pain he relaxed his hold 
for an instant. Only for an instant, but before he could 
regain it, the sleigh was swung violently back to the other 
side of the road, and with a jar and wrench that made all 
things swim before her, and turn black, Laura found herself 
lying half-buried in the snow upon the edge of the pre- 
cipice, just tottering on the very brink, while down the road 
beyond, she caught the last glimpse of the fleet sleigh, and 
heard the last jangle of the receding bells. It was an 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 337 

appalling sensation, the ghastly solitude of the silence that 
fell after the jar and shock of being hurled away from the 
flying sleigh. 

Midnight in the wilderness ! How Laura's heart died in 
her at the thought : alone, in such a spot, and with such 
fears for her companions ; no longer at the mercy of those 
living furies, but at the mercy of terrors hardly less 
appalling. How long should she be there alone ? Her 
companions might not live to return for her ; it was miles 
out of the highway; there was no chance of any passers-by ; 
the night was bright and still, but growing colder every 
minute, such a deadly cold — dumb, deep, penetrating. 
The breath froze on the muff against her face, almost 
before it left her lips, and the snow on which her bare 
wrist pressed, first stung, then numbed it instantly. She 
was so stiff and chilled, and so encumbered with wrappings 
that she could hardly move ; why should she move ? 
There was no use, she could reach no one ; then came an 
impulse to bury her face in her muff and keep it from the 
cold, and lie still just where she was, and then the thought 
darted suddenly through her mind of what she had heard 
of death by freezing — of the horrible, insidious sleepiness — • 
and with a pang of fear she started up and tried to regain 
her feet. 

But that sudden start was the fatal move ; the snow ou 
which she had been lying was just toppling over the 
ravine, her hasty movement had broken the frozen crust, 
and it was giving way. She uttered a terrified shriek, and 
grasped at the nearest twig, it broke in her hand; she 
caught the next, but it was iced all over, and it bent and 

lb 



388 THB SUTHBBLAKDS. 

slipped treacherously through her fingers. It was all 
slipping — slipping down slowly, surely. She looked at the 
bank above, and it was growing further off; when she 
reached out despairingly at the bushes, she found she was 
passing them, and was going down — down — stealthily and 
steadily. She could not pray, nor cry, nor think — a most 
magnified bodily fear, a helpless, half-senseless shrinking, a 
cowering animal dread, paralyzed imagination during 
those intense minutes of suspense. There was a creaking, 
crackUng sound for an instant, as the miniature avalanche 
detached itself finally from the embankment, and then the 
motion grew quicker and quicker, and in another moment 
— ^it had leaped down into the ravine below. 

The horrible stifling sense of falling, and the stunning 
shock of meeting earth after such a fall, even earth 
smothered and muffled in a thick snow, took away her 
breath and consciousness at first. When at length, how- 
ever, she began bewilderedly to ponder and wonder and 
remember, and in consternation to look about her, it was 
to feel first a dull pain from a blow upon her temple, and 
then to realize that she was lying, otherwise unhurt, upon a 
drift of snow, not three feet from a pile of jagged rocks, 
and almost within touch of a giant beech tree, whose stiff 
and naked branches stretched above her head. Many 
trees stood about at iiTCgular distances, and several huge 
felled trunks showed the recent clearing ; but over these 
the snow spread white and smooth, and through the naked 
branches, the clear, full moon shone down, ahnost with the 
light of day 

But what a fi'ozen, petrified silence ! Not a sound, not 



THB SUTHEBI/LNDS. 839 

a motion — no wind among the icy trees, no murmuring of 
the arrested rill, no shivering of the taper icicles that hung 
from the sides of the ravine; nothing but a ghastly, 
unearthly, freezing stillness, that seemed to creep into 
her very soul. She tried to raise herself, and look about 
for help, but dulled, and faint, and weary, she sank back 
and shut her eyes. Then came the fear about the sleepi- 
ness, but this time Winter and more familiar, and she tried 
to rouse herself, and to remember about it and keep 
awake. She said her prayers, the words of them, at least, 
over and over again, and tried to mean them, and to grasp 
their sense, but it seemed floating from her, drifting 
beyond her reach, and she caught earnestly at it, and 
roused herself, and then sunk back iilto forgetfulness again 
before she had attained it. 

How cold the snow beneath her felt I Fine, thin veins 
of chill ran through her frame — she longed to get up, but 
she lacked the power : she tried to resist the torpor, but 
she felt it gathering over her: duller, and dimmer, and 
more helpless her will grew every moment. She was so 
tired, there was nothing sweeter than rest, no matter what 
tame after it ; she was so sleepy, there was nothing better 
than sleep, even if it never ended. 

And that treac^^erous peace stole the last tinge of rose 
from the cheek that lay "snow on snow" in the silent 
ravine, and drove the reluctant blood slowly in from the 
faint, chill veins. The still moonbeams played over the 
shrouded blue of her eyes, and glittered mockingly upon 
her pale, fixed lips : there would be little left, in two houri 
more, for death itself to do, 



CHAPTER XXI. 

PEBTINAX'S CABDf. 
*' He wlio wants least is most like the gods, for the'j irant nothing/' 

The Rev, Pertinax Pound was not a light sleeper ; being 
9 vigorous walker and an early riser, having the appetite 
of a day-laborer and the digestion of a school-boy, he rarely 
misapplied the hours appointed for repose, and upon few 
nights failed to read the book of oblivion from cover to . 
cover, and to rise renewed and refreshed from its perusal 
in the morning. He never felt the dreariness of hia dingy 
cabin, for he knew little of it but by daylight ; it resounded 
in the early evening to his sonorous praying, then, until the 
early morning, to his no less sonorous snoring ; it knew 
much more of him for those ten hours than he knew of it. 
But the night after the snow-storm formed an exception to 
the general rule , the old man had gone to bed early, and, 
during the first half of it, had needed no narcotic. A little 
after midnight, however, either increasig^g cold, or some 
unusual state of body, had rendered him«restless and wake- 
ful ; he wooed Sleep in vain, and finally resolved he would 
have none of the coy wench even if she chose to come, but 
would pay his court to her easier sister, "Warmth. Easy 
she was not on that night, however. He got up and put 
on his clothes, but, tough old woodsman as l?e had esteemed 

840 



THB 8UTHEBLANDS. 841 

himself he found them insufficient to procure him anything 
like comfort. 

"Winter's here and no mistake," he muttered, as he 
walked uneasily around. " Either I'm getting old, or it's 
an awful night, one or both." 

He rubbed the frost-work off the little pane of glass that 
formed his window, and said involuntarily: "God ha* 
mercy on the men or beasts abroad to-night." 

There was no sound without to prompt him to do it, but 
he unbolted the narrow door, and stepping out, looked up 
and down the road. The full moon was shining on it 
almost with the brilliancy of noonday, everything lay 
as silent and peaceful as death. The great black sha- 
dows of the trees behind the house stretched across the 
snow like dumb and solemn mourners; no wind wooed 
them, and no sound, however faint, stiiTed the clear air, 
which cut like a knife, for all its clearness and repose, 
and the old man drew in with a shiver and shut the 
door. 

" Give me a good, honest blow," he muttered, " from 
any two o' the four quarters o' heaven, and a drenchin' 
rain to boot, or even a peltin' hail, before ye give me sich 
a night as this, stingin' like a serpent, and lookin' peacefrd 
as a sleepin' baby. There's death in its breath ; it has an 
uncanny feel in my nostrils, somehow." 

There was nothing for it but to build a fire ; it grieved 
him sore to yield to such an effeminacy, -and he stood it 
out stoutly for some time, slapping his hands together and 
walking up and do^vn the narrow cabin to keep his blood 
a«tir, but at last he succumbed to a warning twinge of 



8dl2 THS SUTHBSLANP8. 

theumatism in his leil shoulder, and in a few moments a 
great fire was blustering up the chimney. 

" Aha !" ejaculated Mr. Pound with ineffable satisfaction, 
as he drew up his rush-bottomed chair before the fire, and 
planted his feet on the uneven hearth. " Aha !" It was 
comfort enough for awhile to sit and thaw before it and 
realize its abounding excellence, and by and by he reached 
down the sad-colored Bible from the shelf in the comer, 
and opening it on his knees, stooped down to see if he 
could not read it by the blaze. A much finer print and a 
much less familiar text would have been readable by the 
light of those well-seasoned hickory logs, and leaning for- 
ward, with the book between his knees and his elbows 
resting on them, he began to read aloud, moving his finger 
along the page. It is probable he had never assumed the 
possibility of reading in any other way, and that he was 
firmly settled in the belief that the proper understanding 
of any written form of words required the active exer- 
cise of three of the five senses bestowed upon the human 
species. 

The book opened of itself to Isaiah ; there. was a grand 
rough spirit of poetry deep down in the old man's soul, 
that made him love that book beyond the rest of Holy 
Writ, and the constant reading of it had given to his rude 
speech a sort of D;ajestic rhythm that was very foreign 
to his station or education. He did not read it with any 
view to its study or elucidation, simply for his own delight 
and comfort; he did not in the least understand it pro- 
phetically or historically, but received it all as a purely 
parsonal conmiunication. Its denunciations were hurled 



THE BUTHEBLiLNDS. 343 

at his enemies, its pleadings were addressed to his flock, 
its promises were made to him, "As manna," says Donne, 
" tasted to every man like that he liked best, so do the 
Psalms minister instruction and satisfaction to every man 
in every emergency and occasion." Parson Pound loved 
the Psalms, too, but the Prophet Isaiah was his manna, his 
daily food. There was not quite encfugh of the anathema 
inaranatha spirit in the songs of the sweet Psalmist of 
Israel to make them entirely satisfactory upon all his emer- 
gencies and occasions; besides, the church he hated read 
them daily in her services, but she had no exclusive right 
in the majestic .Prophet. 

The sympathy that the last night's interview \vith Nattee 
had aroused, had by no means lessened since he had had 
time to think her story over. Her bitter resentment 
jumped with his mood so entirely, he had brooded over 
her wrongs till he had worked himself quite beyond her 
pitch of wrath. The slaveholding, arrogant, popish-tending 
Sutherlands had long represented the enemies of the Lord 
in his readings of the Bible ; sometimes he even inserted 
their name into the text, and now, to-night, as he stooped 
over the tattered leaves and made out the stirring words 
of the Prophet by the red blaze of the firelight, repeating 
the familiar words with strong and vivid emphasis, he 
stopped more than once and looked around, startled at 
the living, awful way in which the words seemed to fill the 
cabin and echo about him, even when he paused. 

" Surely, that was some one spoke," he said, at last, get- 
ting up and walking to the window ; but no, all lay stiU 
as death about his isolated little habitation, and drawing 



3^4 THE «SUTH£RLANDS. 

up his clumsy chair again before the fire, he muttered, 
as he seated himself, stooping down and turning over the 
leaves : 

"Fear and snare and the pit are upon thee, O inhal> 
itant of the earth. The lofty looks of man shall be hum- 
bled, and the haughtiness of men shall be bowed down, 
and the Lord alone shall be exalted in that day. For the 
day of the Lord shall be upon every one that is proud and 
lofty, and upon every one that is lifted up, and he shall be 
brought low .... And the Lord alone shall be exalted in 
that day." 

He paused for a moment, and lifted his head, for a 
strange distant sound penetrated the walls of the cabm. 
What could be stirring at this hour of night ? He listened 
long, and then, hearing nothing, resumed his interrupted 
reading, laying his broad hand on the page for which he 
had been seeking, and repeating more from memory than 
sight, the fifty-first chapter. He had nearly reached the end 
of it, his voice rising with the terror and beauty of which it 
is full. 

"These two things are come unto thee, who shall be 
sorry for thee ? desolation and destruction, and the famine 
and the sword ; by whom shall I comfort thee ? ^ Thy sons 
have fainted, they lie at the head of all the streets as a wild 
bull in a net ; they are full of the fury of the Lord, the 

rebuke of thy God ;" when against the door there came 

a sudden jar, as of some one falling on it, and an indistinct 
cry or groan. The old man put aside his book, and started 
up, hurrying to the door in amazement and alarm ; drawing 
the bolt he pulled it open abruptly, and across the threshold 



THE SUTHEBLAKDS. 345 

fell the senseless body of a girl, while prostrate on the stone' 
behind her lay a man fainting and half dead, with a gash 
across his forehead, from which the blood streamed fresh 
from his heavy fall ; and the minister started back with a cry 
of consternation as, trying to rise, in the livid face upturned 
he recognized Lawrence Sutherland. Raising his hand with 
a gesture of supplication, he murmured ; 

" Take her in, for the love of heaven — see if you can save 
her." 

And Pertinax, speechless with astonishment, stooped over 
her and lifted her in his arms. " Poor child, poor child !" 
he murmured as her icy hand feU back on his, " I said it 
was an awful night." 

He laid her on the rough settle that answered for his 
bed, and dragged it back from the fire, throwing open the 
door, and heaping ashes on the flames, and then, with a 
sorrowful and little-hoping charity, he bent over her and 
rubbed her slender fingers between his own rough palms. 
By this time Lawrence had staggered into the house, and 
supporting himself against the bed, was trying to undo the 
fastenings of her cloak, while the old man, laying down the 
pretty hand, with a hopeless shake of the head moved across 
the room, saying : 

" My poor fellow, you had better take thought for your 
self; let me get you a glass o' such wine as I have, and lay 
ye down and rest." 

Lawrence ejaculated earnestly, stretching out his hand 
in entreaty : 

" Leave me alone, only think of her. I tell you, man," he 
went on passionately, " she must — she shall live — therp ifl 

16* 



34.^ THE 8TJTHEBLAND8. 

no mercy nor justice in Heaven if she cannot — this is but 
a swoon— come back to her — ^help her, old man. Save her, 
for you can — ^I, I am past it. Oh, merciful Heaven ! that 
ray strength should give way now, when a few minutes 
more" 

And with a groan he sank down &.inting, while a livid, 
death-like look came over his features. 

" As a wild bull in a net," muttered the old man, gomg 
across the room and glancing back at the prostrate form, 
powerless and inanimate, with the words of defiance and 
rebellion hardly cold upon his lips. " ' The lofty looks of man 
shall be humbled, and the haughtiness of men shall be bowed 
down.' There is justice in Heaven, poor idnner. I pray 
there may be mercy too !" 

There was neiTe and promptness in aU his movements 
now ; both the sufferers thrown upon his care equally 
needed him, and though he had little hope for one, he left 
no means untried for the restoration of either, going about 
his work none the less effectually that his lips moved in 
half-audible prayer the while. He brought out a glass of 
some strong liquor and poured it down Lawrence's throaty 
then wet the pale lips of the girl with the same, and rubbed 
her temples with it. The fastenings of her cloak, that had 
resisted poor Larry's agonized attempts, yielded to hia 
(Steadier hand, and nothing was left to stifle or impede the 
breath that he prayed might once more flutter through 
those silent lips. But the heart seemed as silent, too; 
he put his ear down to listen at the white still breast 
in vain ; if it yet beat, it was audible only to nicer ears than 
his. 



THE 8ITTHBBLANDS. 347 

** God help the poor thing !" he muttered, folding his own 
cloak over her ; " I doubt I shall be able to coax her back 
again. Most like she's better off than we ; it's no great 
charity to balk her of her rest. She looks as if she be. 
longed to Heaven now." 

Notwithstanding this, however, he in no wise remitted 
his exertions ; the few restoratives that were at hi^ com- 
mand he applied with vigor and discretion, and with the 
animation of a more eager hope than he acknowledged 
to himself. Hard old Puritan as he was, he could not 
look on those white limbs, and not grudge Death such a 
lovely prey ; there was a magic in the pureness and beauty of 
the lifeless form before him, that even softened his heart to- 
ward the errors of the man for whom he would save her, 
if saved she could be ; he almost forgot Nattee and her 
burning wrongs, while he chafed Laura's slender hand, or 
listened breathlessly for the beating of her heart, and then 
glanced down at the baffled and humbled lover, unconscious 
at her feet. 

" It's hard," he thought " and they both so young and 
both so fair and full o' life. God ha' mercy this one time, 
and spare her a little longer !" 

Pertinax had left the tenderest and best love of his 
heart buried with his only daughter under the sod of a 
distant New England churchyard, and perhaps that me- 
mory helped his Christian charity and his general phi- 
lanthropy in the earnest labors of that long night — ^foi 
a long night of suspense and anxiety it proved, and it 
was not until dawn had begun to streak the gloom of 
the eastern sky that, lifting himself up from his anxious 



348 THB SUTHEBLAKDS. 

vigil, he made a sign of hope to Lawrence, who leaned 
against the wall below the couch, and ejaculated, " Thank 
God !" 

And " Thank God 1" Lawrence's white lip -s seemed to 
echo. 



CHAPTER XXn. 

TWnJGHT IN LARRY'S ROOM. 

** When on the lip the sigh delays 

As if 'twould linger there forever : 
When eyes would give the world to gaze , 
Yet still look down, and venture never : 
• »»»«» 
If all this is not real love,' 
'Tis something wondrous like it." 

Moore. 

Two weeks had passed since Larry Sutherland drove the 
olack ponies home from the Van Bokkelins, by way of Chal- 
ford's Clearing, and a longer two weeks, according to that 
young gentleman's estimate of time, had never been re- 
corded. Of the first part of it he knew comparatively little, 
just as little, in fact, as people ever know of the employment 
of their time and the occupation of their thoughts, during 
a high fever and a strong delirium. But after those had 
worn off, and he began to recover enough to be perfectly 
wretched, and to realize he had a dislocated shoulder and a 
gashed forehead, and sprains and bruises innumerable to be 
taken care of, the days grew to be most spun out and end- 
less affairs, and the nights most interminable penances. 

Patience, as has been hinted, was not the virtue on which 
Larry's friends staked their hopes of his canonization ; but 
those who now attended him began to think he possessed 

849 



350 THE SUTHEBLAKDS. 

more of it than they had given him credit for. Nattee 
wondered secretly at his silent ways, and his poor mother 
blessed him in her credulous and tender heart for his sub- 
mission : his father rarely came to his apartment, but when 
he did, it was to marvel at his cowed and spiritless beha- 
viour ; while Warren only saw with fear the sullenness and 
gloom they all mistook for submissiveness of temper. He 
had been in no real danger after the fever yielded ; there was 
nothing for him to do but to keep quiet while the work of 
restoration and renovation went on of itself. As skillful 
doctoring as the country and the times afforded, and as ten- 
der nursing and devoted care as any country or any time 
could have afforded, had been lavished on him, and at the 
end of a week there was, as has been said, nothing left for 
him to do but to get well. It ought to have been, and 
doubtless was, much consolation to him to know that his com- 
panions in misfortune had been even more lightly dealt with 
than himself. His first eager, half-trembling inquiry, after 
his delirium had subsided, had been for news of his cousin. 
Nattee happened to be the person watching by him when 
he roused and asked the question. Miss Laura? Oh, Miss 
Laura was very weU now ; she had come down to dinner 
for the first time yesterday ; she was looking a little pale, 
but was a great deal better. 

Had she been in to see him, or was it a dream he had 
had of her standing below the bed there, looking at him 
Larry asked. 

"You must ha' been dreamin'. Master Larry ,»> Natteo 
said quickly, glancing sideways at him as she spokb, " Bat 



THE STJTHEBLAKDS. 351 

I can call Miss Laura, if you want her. She's in the 
sitting-room wi' Captain Lacy, fixing the bandage on his 
wrist. She'll come in a minute, I know, Master Larry, if 
you want her." 

" I do not want her," Larry said, quickly and huskily 
and Nattee shrunk back, half frightened at what she had 
done, half triumphant at her unlooked-for success. Tha 
devil, they say, puts the ace, king and queen into a begin- 
ner's hand, and some such policy seemed to obtain with 
whatever leader Nattee's course of deception was begin- 
ning under. She hardly dared hope her rude and unprac- 
tised net could have a chance of insnaiing, when she found 
her master entangled in it, and the way open for more and 
more vital play. Few could have resisted such an easy sin — 
least of all, poor untaught, passion-led Nattee, who actually 
hardly knew what she was doing, hardly gave a name to 
what she did. To estrange Laura from the affections of her 
master, to excite his jealousy and distrust of Captain Lacy, 
were things she would hardly have thought dishonest, had 
she stopped to think them over. But she did not stop to 
think, she only went on, day by day, led forward by her 
strange success, and not reflecting there must some day be 
a reckoning and a counter-movement. 

Mrs. Sutherland, worn out by her anxieties, again suc- 
cumbed to her old enemy, and was confined to her room by 
a headache that threatened longer battle than it ordinarily 
gave. Warren had little encouragement to come to hia 
cousin's room, being met with nothing better than morose 
indifference and dullness; Salome only waddled up there 
once or twice a day, to croon over and bemoan him, and iu 



252 THE SUTHEBLA N'D S • 

consequence, the care of him devolved, in a very great 
degree, on Nattee. A dangerous duty it had grown to he, 
and with a peevish fear, she dreaded the time that it should 
end. She almost longed to see him once more burning 
with fever, raving with frenzy, that she might feel he was 
safe from the care and presence of the others — ^that he would 
need her care and presence for a long while to come. 

And, indeed, he seemed in no haste to exchange it for a 
wide:^ liberty. The doctor had said he was fit to go down- 
stairs whenever he might wish, and Nattee watched 
anxiously to see him avail himself of the permission ; but 
two days had passed, and he was still moodily and sullenly 
moping in his room. On the second day, as she set his 
dinner down before him, he said abruptly : 

" When does Captain Lacy go, Nattee ?" 

" I haven't heard anything said about his going. Master 
liarry," she answered carelessly, " Wasn't it unlucky that 
It should ha' been his bridle-arm was lamed ?" 

Seeing he gave her no answer (though, indeed, he rarely 
did give her any to such gratuitous remarks), she went on 
after a moment : 

" His man says he's had a letter from New York, and 
that he won't have to go there now. JSe don't think he's 
in very much of a hurry to go away jfrom here. He sap 
he's only bent on getting a discharge, and bein' at liberty 
to take Miss — ^I mean — to go home to England. I dont 
know anything about it — that's what Richard says." 

" You'd do well to hav^e less gossipping with Richard,* 
the young master said impatiently. " You may go now 
I'll call you if I want anything." 



THE SCJTHEBLAJE7DS. 358 

That afternoon, toward twilight, Larry paced his solitary 
room, restless and unstrung. He was not quite the master 
of himself he had been before this illness ; it had told upon 
his nerves considerably, though be could not endure to 
acknowledge it to himself; it galled him as it always galls a 
Btrong man, to find he had so much in common with the 
weak and the irresolute. He had resolved to face the 
family to-night, but every time he put his hand upon the 
door to open it, he found himself so far beneath the sway of 
his sick fancy, as to tremble and turn back, with a longing 
to stay still a little longer in his moody solitude. But 
at length he murmured, with an impatient vehemence, 
" Enough of this. There is no more excuse. I will go 
down now, and try to brave it out. The devil himself 
shan't see I have a rival." 

He gave himself no more time to think, and strode out 
of the room. The hall was dark and chilly, for the sun was 
down, and it was a dun and gloomy place at noonday, even, 
having no windows of its own, and being lighted only per 
favor of the rooms that opened into it. His right arm was 
in a sling, and with his left he groped slowly down the 
stairs, feeling strangely uncertain of his footing, giddy and 
uncomfortable. When he reached the lower hall, he took 
one or two turns up and down it, before he approached the 
sitting-room door. 

As, in moments of dire and sudden peril, it is said that 
one's whole past life will flash before one, clear and well 
defined even in the smallest and longest forgotten detail, so 
at that moment, when he least craved the reminiscence, 
there rushed across Lawrence's mind all that he now roost 



854 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

wished to forget. An hour ago, he had thought himself 
the master ; now, the traitor, Memory, had slipped the 
leash, and had darted, with the speed of lightning, hack 
over ground he had sworn her dangerous foot should never 
touch again. All the humiliation of his defeat, all the 
bitterness of his disappointment, all his unconquered love 
his unavailing tenderness, rushed back upon him as he stood 
with his hand upon the door that bounded him from 
criticism and contempt. Could he, with all that dandng 
before his eyes, crowding in upon his brain, overflowing 
from his heart, meet the woman he had lost, the man who 
had supplanted him, as his pride and his manliness alone 
dictated he should meet them ? No, this was not the hour 
to face their curiosity : he would yield this once to a weak- 
ness he could not conquer; another day should find hiin 
stronger in mind and body ; the sanctuary of his solitary 
room was open to him still — he would seek its charity 
to-night, and come forth from it refreshed and restored 
to-morrow. Coward I The indistinct murmur of voices 
within the sitting-room, the gleam of light from the cracks 
below the door, unnerved and shook him as no danger, 
tangible or imaginary, had ever done before, and he fairly 
panted and shivered as he regained the second floor and 
crossed the threshold of his own apartment. 

"A fool — a cursed fool!" he . muttered, walking hn- 
patiently up and down a few times ; then crossing to the 
mantelpiece, he leaned his head ' on his arm upon it, and 
groaned aloud. The fire had blazed up brightly since he 
had left it, and made such a light within, that the soft^ 
new twihght without looked dim and grey in comparison. 



THB 8UTHBBLANDS. 855 

Tlie room was such a self-willed, incongruous, arbitrary 
one, as could have belonged to no man but Larry Suther- 
land. The antique piety of the jambs, and the unnecessary 
magnificence of the great brass andirons, were things heredi- 
tary, things forced on him ; the comfortable beauty of the 
bed, the good taste and prettiness of the cloth and cushion 
under the greenish-looking, queer-shaped glass, were refine- 
ments he had submitted to rather than accepted from 
his mother; but the great uncouth leather-covered chaii 
drawn up by the window, the rough, in^egular shelves, 
crammed with books and boxes, ink-horns and chessmen, 
the walls, covered with deer's antlers and fishing-rods, 
tobacco-pouches and game-bags, charcoal sketches alfresco^ 
and colored prints, in frames and out of frames, showed the 
master's taste and will. Good housewives would have 
called it a den, and good fellows would have found it a 
paradise. It was a large room, too, with three narrow, 
deep windows, and a blundeiing, aimless recess at the left 
side of the fireplace, which served Lawrence as a repository 
for his guns and hunting coats and boots, and which was an 
enduring grief and trial to his mother, by reason of the 
wild confusion and disorder which reigned continually 
there. The firelight did not penetrate its depths, but the 
panther-skin, which hung above the entrance, vibrated 
slightly when Lawrence entered, as if the draught, perhaps, 
did. Kelpie sat up on her haunches with an attentive, 
inquiring expression of fece, as if she were not quite clear 
in her mind about what was going on, and seemed to 
suppress with eflbrt a short, suspicious bark. She might 
have gratified herself, however, without damaging hia* 



8«56 THE SUTHSBLANDS. 

interests with her master, for it would have been a farioiu 
burst of canine excitement that would have roused bis atten- 
tion at that moment. Presently Kelpie appeared to conclude, 
at any rate, it was no business of hers, and after nosing 
around with diminishing interest, she unjointed her erect 
forepaws, and laid herself down upon the scarlet-bonnd 
fawnskin that formed the rug, but cocked up her eye 
attentively, as if awaiting further developments. 

Lawrence did not move from the attitude he had first 
assumed, but another groan and a lower one presently 
escaped his lips, and Kelpie was again much excited, raising 
her head and putting it a good deal on one side, then sud- 
denly flashing it around toward the door, as a soft step 
crossed the threshold. She did not salute the new comer 
with a bark, however, but half rose, and swept her fringy 
tail in welcome back and forth across the rug, and looked 
lip rather reproachfully in her unmoved master's face. But 
the timid footsteps of the visitor failed to arrest his ear, as • 
did her first no less timid salutation. She had stood beside 
him on the rug some seconds, and had faltered more than 
one low question, before he raised his head and saw her. 

" Laura I" he exclaimed, with an involuntary start. 

" You did not hear me knock," she said confusedly. ' I 
ventured to come in." 

A pause ; Larry for his life could not have spoken then. 
Laura was the first to break it. 

"I thought you were coming downstairs to-day. Are 
you not as well ?" 

A quick suspicion daited through his mind : " She was in 
the haU, she saw me go down and g'lessod why I came back 



I 



THE 8UTHEBLAND8. 857 

SO soon. Pity has brought her— ^tYy /" And in a tone in 
which there was much both of coldness and distance, he 
answered he was better, and nothing but indolence kept 
him a prisoner in his room. Nattee had taken such good 
cai*e of him, and it was so much trouble to dress, while h 
knew he was restricted to the house. 

" I feared you were worse, or I should not have come,' 
Laura said, pained at his tone and frightened at what she 
had done. 

" Oh, thank you." 

" Is there nothing I can do for you ? I should be very 
glad to " 

" No, I don't think of anything. You are veiy kind." 

The words 'weren't anytliing — but the tone! Every 
inflection was a wound, none the less cruel that it was 
intangible and vague, like the pain and discomfort of a 
delirium. What made it hurt her so ? Why did she feel 
S9 miserably pained and chilled ? On the whole, there was 
no reason for it, but she wished herself away most unre- 
servedly. She took a step toward the door, then turned 
back again irresolutely ; she had not jnade hina understand 
at all. 

" I have been so un — uncomfortable about you," she said, 
with the most enticing timidity of voice and manner. " I 
am sure you must be lonely here. WonH you come 
down ?" 

" I'll come do^vn to-morrow," he said quickly. " I am 
more comfortable here for .this evening. Nattee will bring 
my supper up." 

A]\ this while Lawrence was rememberings •* My onpar- 



358 TUB BUTUEBLANDS. 

donable carelessness nearly killed her, and she is trying U 
show me she forgives it." And Laura was thinking, " Here 
is the man who saved my life, and he is trying to show me 
my gratitude is not acceptable." ^ 

Which cross-purposing did not tend at all to simplify and 
pacificate the relations between them. As Laura turned her 
head away, something in her face or expression seemed to 
strike Larry, for he added hastily : 

" And you ? I haven't asked you whether you are over 
the effects of this miserable adventure. Are you quite 
recovered ?" 

" Oh, I am better to-day," she said, catching at the 
softening in his manner, and hesitatingly attempting to 
continue with something that did not come, an4 then 
breaking down and blushing. 

Lawrence gave her a hasty, searching look, and called 
himself a brute for not seeing before how pale and changed 
she was. Indeed, it was but too apparent that that molt 
miserable adventure, as he rightly termed it, had been no 
trifling accident to her. She looked slighter and more 
fragile far than formerly, her eyes were heavy, and an ill- 
concealed languor marked her voice and manner. " This la 
the work of my besotted temper and mad jealousy," he 
thought, remorsefully ; but he said aloud, in a voice more 
stern than sorrowful : 

" You are looking worse than I expected to see you. I 
magined you were quite recovered." 

" Oh, I am vastly better," she persisted (" to spare me," 
he thought bitterly). " I came down to my dinner to^ 
day." 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 359 

" Not for the first time ?" he asked quickly. 

" No, I attempted it a week ago, but did not feel quite 
BO well for it." 

*• And you have beou in your room ever since ?" 

« Till to-day at noon." 

"I understood — ^I — ^that is — ^I imagined you were tho- 

oughly yourself again. I don't know, Laura, how I am to 

make amends to you for what Pve done. I believe you will 

have to be satisfied with my regrets ; they are very sincere, 

though they won't do you much good." 

"Regrets! That I am better? That's ungracious," 
Laura said, not exactly knowing what else to say, but 
knowing that what she did say was not quite wise nor 
strictly true. But Lawrence was so strange and stem, she 
did not know what to make of him ; she longed to tell him 
all the gratitude she felt for that night's services ; but he 
looked so dark and moody, and spoke so distantly, the 
words died on her lips. She would go, she would not 
thrust herself upon him ; he did not like her thanks, and it 
was not her fault. 

She turned to leave him, murmuring something about 
good night, and her hopes that he'd be better in the morn* 
ing, when he exclaimed suddenly, " Don't go, Laura ; I am 
sure you might see I'm very lonely here." 

" Is it my fault ?" she said, in a changed manner, not 
offering to come back, though not going further toward the 
door. 

• " I did not accuse you of it," he said, with a sigh, turn- 
ing away, and leaning his forehead down upon the mantel- 
piece again. 



860 THE BUTHEBLANDS. 

"No, you did not say it was my fault," she returned, 
after a moment ; " but you implied " 

"What did I imply?" he asked; and Laura's woman's 
wit deserted her upon that one occasion ; she could not tell 
exactly what he did imply. 

" I'll tell you what you thought, Laura," he said, raising 
his head. "You thought I implied it was a penance to you 
to stay here and help my solitude — ^that it would be only 
from duty you would stay if you did stay ; that you would 
long to be downstairs among the rest. Isn't it so ? Didn't 
you think I meant that ? And didn't I mean right ?" 

" No," said Laura steadily, " for no one wants me down- 
stairs. Warren is not come home yet, and my uncle never 
notices whether I am in the room or not." 

" And Captain Lacy ?" Lawrence said. 

" Captain Lacy is not here." 

" Not here 1 when did he go ?" 

" An hour ago." 

" And when does he come back ?" 

She raised her eyes and looked at him steadily for i 
moment. " Never, Lawrence, I believe." 

" Never 1" he echoed, in a strange, satirical tone. " It 
costs you dreadfully to say that, I can see." 

" Yes, it does cost me dreadfully," she said, with sudden 
feeling. And with inexplicable passion she buried her fiwe 
in her hands and burst into tears. 

" Laura 1" exclaimed Lawrence, catching her hands and 
drawing them from her face as he bent his own down to 
her, "you are not crying because he has gone away. 1 
know you are not." 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 861 

" Let me go I let me go I" she murmured, with a wild 
struggle. 

"No, Laura," he whispered, as he held her fast and 
looked into her eyes ; " never, never again," 

Never, never again. Captive to the sweetest, fondest 
rule, slave to the bondage from which no woman's heart 
rebels, bent under the tyranny that blesses beyond liberty ; 
the long struggle conquered, the long doubt ended, the 
new, sweet, full life begun. 

And while the lovers stood, intoxicated with the strange 
new happiness that they found on each other's lips, in each 
Other's arms, the fitfully shining firelight glinted for a 
minute on a stealthy figure with lurid eyes and tight- 
clenched fingers, stealing cat-like to the door ; and then the 
blaze feU^ and when it started up again, only the panther 
skin, swinging faintly back over the untenanted recess, and 
the erected ears and attentive eyes of the dog upon the 
rug, showed there had been any added to or detracted 
from the inmates of the room. 

But the young lovers took no heed ; their ears were open 
to nothing but their own low whispers, the firelight only 
showed them the new light in each other's eyes, the new 
beauty on each other's face. All was night outside the 
halo of their love ; shadows might thicken, misery might 
weep, despair might dash itself to earth, they saw, heard, 
felt it not ; blinded by their own great happiness, dazzled 
by the nearness of their own delight. 



16 



CHAPTER XXIII 

THE enemy's WOKK. f 

t 

( 

^ Night brings out stars as sorrows show us truths ; 

Though many, yet they help not ; bright, they light noU 

They are too late to serve us ; and sad things 

Are aye too true. We never see the stars 

Till we can see nought but them. ' So with truth." 

Festus. 

f 

The dark house was hushed in its first sleep ; only one 
light waked in all its many chambers, and that one was 
shaded and hidden in a corner of Nattee's little room. ' 
Nattee herself crouched in another, as if afraid of it herself 
and listened, breathless, to every sound that came through 
the partly open door. Many sounds will always come to 
any listening ears, in an old country house, in the stillest 
and most breathless night ; rats will revel in the wainscot, 
crickets will chirrup on the hearth, snappings of the half- 
smothered fires, creakings of uneasy hinges will occur ; and 
at each and all of these had Nattee started and trembled 
since she commenced her vigil. She had heard Salome's 
deafening snore begin, and had seen, through the crack in 
Steady's door, the little girl's hands crossed upon her 
bosom in childish, quiet slumber, and yet she feared to stir. ., 
What if they did not sleep below; what if those low, uncer- 
tain sounds were the restless steps of some wakeful member 
of the household? But she must take her chance ; there waa 



THE BUT HE B L A N D 8 . 863 

. J/ ■ • 

no safety or hope in waiting longer; the old clock in the 
sitting-room had long ago struck one — ^it was three hours 
since the last door had shut — she would wait no further, 
there never would be a safer time. With cautious, hesi- 
tating step, she crossed to where the shaded candle flick- 
ered, and stooping down, after a moment of iiTesolution, 
blew it out; then, as if that had been the decisive point, she 
started up with new resolution, and catching up the little 
bundle that lay upon the bed, she stole through the door 
and toward the stairs without a glance behind. 

She had gained the second story hall before she stopped 
to reconnoitre. The attic door fell to noiselessly ; she held 
her breath to listen, but all was still here as it was above. 
The way lay clear for her ; another minute, and she might 
be beyond the house, but an impulse stronger even than 
her wild desire of flight drew her toward Larry's door. 
Ah I the dangers that she ran ! He might be waking ; 
lovers do not find wakefulness a penance, or her step might 
rouse him from his light and dreamy slumber, and then she 
was undone. But had the dangers been a thousand fold 
more imminent she would have braved them all. She 
pushed the door open slowly and softly and crept within 
the room. It was flooded with monlight ; from the narrow 
window opposite the bed a broad stripe of silvery white 
light streamed, and lay across the stone window-seat, the 
rough matted floor, and the low, white bed itself; noonday 
could hardly have shown Nattee the face and form she had 
come to look her last upon, more clearly than this soft 
moonlight did. 

Careless and brave and bonny, even in his sleep, a dream 



864 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

ing smile playing about his handsome mouth, and a maiily 
grace making good any attitude into which he chanced, to 
throw himself. No wonder poor Nattee's heart died in her 
as she thought it was the last time she should ever again 
look upon him, sleeping or waking, while she lived ; the 
last time that she could feel that nothing but a quickly- 
broken sleep debarred her from the sound of his brave 
voice, the glance of his kind eye ; he was the master she 
had been taught to love, to look upon with pride ; she had 
learned her lesson but too well, and here was the cruel end. 
The kindness and manliness and generosity of his boyhood 
all came back to her ; oh, that she could have died to serve 
him, that she could have shown him a better return for 
all his long forbearance than she should show him by her 
flight. 

" Oh, Master Larry, if you only, only knew !" she mur- 
mured, sinking on her knees beside the bed ; " if you only 
knew what made me go, you wouldn't be hard on me for 
going ! Oh, it kills me to think he'll be angry with me 
when he comes to know I'm gone — it kills me to think he'll 
never gi' me a kind thought again, for all I've never done 
him ill, and would die, die, die to do him any good !*' 

It was so ci'uel, so impossible to tear herself away from 
the sight of what had always been best and dearest to her 
since she could remember, that more than once her resolve 
• gave way, and she abandoned the purpose she was pledged 
to. To serve him, to live always in his sight, would bo 
better than a life of ease away from him. No one should 
coax her from him, no one should make her go. But then 
came the thought of those two lovers by the fireside, of 



TEE 8UTHEBLANDB. 865 

their low whispers, their fond looks, and she started up, 
lest the terrible, blood-thirsty, jealous pang of that first 
eight should seize again upon her. She dared not stay; 
she fled, poor wretch, as much from herself as from her 
bondage ; she was so pursued and tortured and beset with 
misery, she knew not what way to look, she cared not what 
fate overtook her, so that it freed her from this abiding 
pain and fear. Another moment of passionate weeping, 
with her face pressed against the floor — another glance that 
spoke the bitterness of death — and she was gone. Her 
light foot woke no echoes as she stole past her mistress' 
room, the hall-door closed behind her without a sound, and 
she was standing, before she paused to think, in the clear 
moonlight and the fresh, cold air. 

She did not feel, till that chill struck her, that she was 
actually a fugitive, that she had voluntarily abandoned 
home and protection, and was roofless and solitary under 
i/ne open sky. But there was too much danger in the 
present to leave time for anticipation or reflection ; how to 
get outside the precincts of the farmhouse and beyond the 
outbuildings and inclosures without rousing either of the 
dogs who watched around them nightly, or any of the men 
who slept in the barn or workshop, was the present vital 
question. That their slumbers were unusually light about 
this period, and their vigilance extreme, she had remem- 
bered with apprehension from the first. A stealthy band 
of Indians had for a fortnight past infested the neighboring 
farmyards by night, and the adjacent woods by day, and 
only three nights before had driven off in triumph one of 
Ralph Sutherland's finest heifers and several of his most 



366 THE BUTHBBLANDS* 

cnerished sheep, which loss had so enraged the old man, 
that lie had deeply sworn the villains should be tracked and 
caught if there was any justice left in Ulster. And much 
to the surprise of all the men, he had backed his threat- 
ened vengeance with the liberal offer of a sovereign to the 
first one who should discover the retreat of the marauders, 
or lead to their arrest. The men were greatly excited by 
the unusual munificence of their master, and were stimu- 
lated to most painful vigils. Nattee's only hope was that 
three nights' watching would have worn their enthusiasm 
out a little, 'and that their natural and inborn sleepiness 
would by this time have begun to prevail over their newly 
aroused cupidity. 

She stole around the corner of the house, trembling at 
her own shadow in the moonlight, and at the light souod 
of her footsteps on the Jfrozen ground. Creeping along 
below the shrubbery, she gained the wall beyond the grape- 
arbor, and, raising herself, cast an eager glance around. 
There might be eyes in every window, lurking spies in 
every bush I Her blood curdled at the thought of what 
miscarriage would cost her ; if she were but safely out into 
the lane ! 

She threw her bundle over the wall, and climbed up 
cautiously herself, then slid down as quick as thought upon 
the other side ; but below the wall was an irregular growth 
of bushes and tall weeds, now crisp, and dry, and brittle, 
and, light and cautious as it was, her descent among them 
caused a crackling and rustling so unexpected that she 
uttered a low cry of consternation, as she caught up her 
bundle and sprang clear of them out into the orchard. 



THE SUT HE B LANDS. 367 

No time now to listen whether any one else ha(\ heard 
what had so startled her, but, run as swiftly as^he might, 
,8he could not help catching the sound she so dreaded in 
the distance — the low growl, and then the sharp bark, of 
the watch-dog by the barn. Heaven have mercy now ! 
A hundred yards lay between her and the stone wall that 
separated the orchard and the lane. Once clear of that 
she could defy them all, for there was neither man, nor 
boy, nor dog upon the place could match with her in speed. 
Her wild Indian blood was up ; she would fight like a tiger, 
whatever crossed her path. 

She had reached the wall, and had just put out her hand 
toward it, when the fleet, light-running of the wakeful 
dog coming down the lane made her spring back and 
stoop down. The mastiff had not yet bellowed out his 
alarum ; he was only reconnoitering the ground and mut- 
tering out his dark suspicions in a low, uncertain growl. 
He had dashed out from the barn, and reached the lane by 
a short cut, and now would just effectually head her off. 
Ah ! His quick ear had not played him false, the growl 
was deepening into a bark as he approached ; his unerring 
instinct had brought him to the actual stone, where, half a 
minute before, Nattee had laid her eager hand; but as 
his paws touched the wall, and his quick head appeared 
above it, a large stone met it, from the waiting hand of 
Nattee, whose hand and eye had never missed their aim, and 
with a deep howl the dog fell back in his death-agony. 

She crouched down a moment more, and listened for 
some sound that would indicate pursuit ; but no, evidently 
the sleepy negroes had lost in dreams all memory of tho 



368 THE 6UTH£BLAND8. 

reward^ and Nattee recollected now that the other dog 
had been taken away with Dave, on a journey of a couple 
of days into the mountains. Dead dogs tcU no immediate 
tales, and Nattee cleared the fence with an easy bound, 
and shot across into the shadow of the hedge-row 'of lilacs 
on the other side* She then abandoned the mad pace at 
which she had traversed the orchard, and fell into a rapid, 
cautious run, pausing every half dozen yards to ascertain 
if she had roused pursuit, and then speeding ahead, neither 
fast enough to exhaust herself, nor slow enough to put her- 
self in danger. 

At the end of the lane she made a longer pause, looking 
ii]> and down the highway, into which it led, before she 
dared to cross it. What did she expect to see abroad at 
that deep hour of night ? It seemed a needless caution, 
night and silence reigned so absolute. 

Silent and safe as it all looked, however, the girl shiv 
ered as she cowered in the shadow of the "hedge, and 
glanced ahead at the broad patch of moonlight she had to 
cross before she reached the friendly darkness of the 
woods. Delay, however, could not make the danger less, 
so catching up the bundle that had fallen at her feet, she 
sprang boldly across the highway, and struck into the 
unsheltered cross road that led into the Five Mile Woods, 
instinctively bending low, however, and skimming along 
the ground' as near the fence as possible. A natural, but 
an unavailing caution, for her lengthened shadow stretched 
far across the bare, unshaded road, too conspicuous an 
object to be missed by any eyes, even the most inattentive, 
and none but the most watchful were likely to l^e open at 



\ 



THE BU7HEBLAKDS. 869 

such an hour as that. When she reached the woods, she 
made eagerly for the dark path that led into them, fon 
getting, till she was deep in the forest, all that train of 
fearful fancies with which her superstitious mind was filled. 
The alternate gloom and ghastliness of the way, now 
leading through dense eVergreens, meeting,, black and im- 
penetrable, above her head, now passing under leafless and 
lofty trees, shedding strange and wavering shadows at her 
feet, would have chilled her with terror, if her errand had 
had no other terrors. There was a feai-ful stillness when 
she paused, there were more fearful noises when she 
moved; the dead leaves rustled audibly, the icicles and 
faUen branches broke and crackled startlingly beneath her 
tread, and presently, far beyond her, deep in the woods, a 
hoarse owl began his hideous screech. 

This was no time for repentance ; it was unavailing to 
look back — she must pursue unflinchingly this dangerous 
experiment of liberty that had looked so tempting in the 
promise, that stood so thick with perils even at the outset. 
She carried in her bosom the letter Pertinax had given 
her that evening, which, he had told her, once safe in 

the hands of his charitable brother, the minister, at , 

would insure her protection and safe conduct to whatever 
asylum she might choose— either refuge with a powerful 
tribe of Indians in the Northwest, of whom her father 
came, and who would willingly receive her, or safety 
among the sympathizers and well-wishers of the old 
dissenter, to whom she should be forwarded, in that most 
Christian and most Quaker province, named for him ot 
landed charity and well-heralded good deeds. 



870 THB SUTHEBLAKIIB. 

*' Courage, courage, girl I There isn't a Ohristian in the 
land, but holds thee wron^y bound, there's hundreds o' 
kind bauds will help thee on ; there's hundreds o' trae 
hearts that ache for such as thee. Be quick, be brave, bo 
cautious, thou'll have naught to fear." 

Nattee murmured the words over to herself and tried to 
think that she believed them. Indeed, she did well to 
remind herself of all that was comfortable in her future, 
her present was unpromising enough. She had not esti- 
mated the dangers she would run, when, in her moment 
of mad despair, she had besought the restless preachei 
to help her to escape. Encouraged, and kept up to her 
desperate resolve by his sympathy and eloquence, she had 
not flagged till the moment of her parting with her 
master : from that point to the present, necessity of quick 
action had goaded her forward ; but now, in this ghastly 
wilderness, with her journey just begun, with all her plans 
to form, there was a moment for reflection. 

And instead of spending it in prudent and intelligent 
deliberations on the measures she should adopt, and the 
route she should pursue, this most unwise and most unrea- 
sonable fugitive sank down, overcome with terror and 
regret, and hiding her eyes from the dancing shadows that 
the moonlight shed, wept bitter and unavailing tears over her 
new liberty, and its unlooked-for charms. Most irrational 
and illogical, but most characteristic, the undisciplined, 
impulsive mind of tfie poor slave reveited at that moment 
of supernatural terrors and bodily fears to the safety and 
comfort of the home she had abandoned; the present 
dis<*.ouragement overbore ^1 the promised advantages, th« 



THB SUTHERLAND8. 371 

little spite and venom that her otherwise affectionate heai*t 
had lately harbored, had exhausted itself in this short 
effort — she was humbled, repentant, abject — she had done 
enough to satisfy herself. The recollection of her young 
master's kindness her indignation had never clouded, but 
now returned with it the memory of her mistress' thousand 
gentle favors and continual forbearance, the easy, pleasant 
life she had led, the good nature and merriment of the 
kitchen, the gaiety and interest of the sitting-room. She 
forgot the brutal ugliness of the tyrant, from whose un- 
kinduess, though, to do him justice, she suffered no more 
than his whole household did ; she forgot Salome's taunts 
and persecutions ; she forgot, or overcame, her iealous bit- 
terness against Laura — she was willing to go back in 
humbleness, and see her happiness and her lover's tender- 
ness, anything — anything — ^to be out of all this horror, 
and to be home again, and to be within sight of the faces 
to which she was accustomed, and from which she was 
forever separating herself. And the young clergyman — 
how her faith died in her last instructor when she thought 
of him. He was a Christian, she was very sure, and yet 
she knew he would not have given her a helping hand 
in this ungratpful flight, which the Methodist had said aU 
Christians would encourage. She had no idea what was 
the ground of her belieti but her quick instinct told her, 
Warren's Christianity would tave shown itself in a very 
different way. What if he were right after all, and her 
leader wrong — wrong — and had led her wrong I Tier 
entire incapacity for dealing with the question in any 
other way than as it touched her passions ; her bewilder 



372 THE BCTHEBLANDS. 

ment and weakness when it came to deciding it by reason, 
threw her into wild distress ; she had no stay at alL Like 
all persons of uneducated mind and conscience, she was 
subject to the most harassing changes of feeling, and the 
most unmanageable doubts. Rudderless and unready, her 
bark seemed at the mercy of a black and engulphing sea; 
the shore was already but a dim and distant line. 

And mixed up with these bitter thoughts, entangled, knit 
in with their bewilderment and consternation, came the 
recollection of the friorhtful stories that were told about 
these very woods. Her blood had curdled many a time hy 
the warm chinmey-corner, only to listen to the recital of 
them, and iy>w she was braving all the terrors of the place, 
alone at midnight, and on a questionable errand, too. Low 
moanings, faint whisperings, distant sighings, were all that 
seemed to justify her fears, till 

Nattee raised her head with a wild throb of terror, and 
started to her feet ; superstitious alarm died away in the 
dim distance at the approach of such substantial danger as 
that sound implied. A smothered, wary step, often pausing, 
reconnoitering stealthily, but approaching swiftly, following 
closely on her very track. Blind, deaf, giddy with fear, for 
a moment she staggered back ; then the strong, sharp reac- 
tion of a clearer terror shot through her, and she bounded 
forward with a fleetness almost fabulous. She darted out 

• 

of the path she had been following, and made directly for 
the bed of a stream, about half a mile deeper in the woods 
upon her right. The recent rain and melting of the snoW 
had filled it pretty full, and in following it the sound of her 
footsteps would be drowned by the rushing of its waters. 



1 U K 8UTnBSI.ANDS. 373 

Shb knew it pretty well, too, and could safely follow it for 
miles, for it led up the mountain that lay partly in her 
ro'ite. At any rate, it was better than the beaten path that 
her pursuer now was in, where every step was audible, and 
it was better than the thick, tangled brushwood through 
which she made such tantalizingly slow progress. At last 
she reached the stream, and only pausing for an instant to 
know if she were followed, she sprang lightly along from 
rock to rock, sometimes plashing through the water, some- 
times clambering along the bank. She did not make the 
headway she would have made in the clear path, however. 
Her mind began to misgive her — ^this was a perilous experi- 
ment ; the stones were so coated with ice, it was an effort 
constantly to keep her feet. She was so exhausted with 
her exertions to keep herself from falling, that, panting and 
trembling, she at length sank down to recover breatK and 
look around her. The stone on which she sat was lying at 
the foot of a little waterfall, which, tumoling over a ledge 
of rock far above her head, fell noisily down into the 
stream beside her. Indeed it was only from this point the 
brooklet began its even, peaceable course ; above, it tumbled 
down the steep side of the mountain, of which this was 
the legitimate base. 

Nattee cast a fearful look up the rocky and precipitous 
path that lay before her, and then bent eagerly forward in 
a listening attitude. Ah, the treacherous brook ! While 
its roar had drowned her steps, it had hidden her pursuer's 
as well ; for a stealthy shadow, creeping through the 
thicket, not a hundred yards from where she sat, caught 
her eye. Could she hope to win at this close game ? Mor- 



374 THE 8UTHBBLA1JDS. 

tal terror has no hopes, no expectations, no calculations ; it 
saves itself till Death has it by the throat. A steep and 
perilous ascent, indeed, it was that wound upward from 
where poor Nattee had taken h^r momentary rest, and in 
daylight she would have thought twice before she risked it; 
sharp sudden rocks, glazed treacherously with ice — ^huge 
fallen trees, with their rough and scraggy branches still 
upon them, lay across and beside the stream; the sides 
of the gully which it had worn were even steeper and 
rougher than the bed of the stream itself. For a few 
moments it seemed as if the courage and fleetness of the 
Indian girl were more than equal to the dangers of the 
way; by marvellous strength and stratagem, she distanced 
her foe at every step— owing to this, perhaps, that she took 
no care to avoid the cuts and bruises and blows the danger- 
ous ^Vay presented, while her adversary, if one of flesh and 
blood, must have lost much time in saving himself fi-om 
them. But at lasf, even the desperation and cunning of the 
fugitive stood baffled — a more complete trap than the one 
into which she had fallen could hardly have been devised 
by the most malignant ingenuity. Above her, the rocks 
rose to the height of twenty feet — a perpendicular wall 
across the little gully, over which the water was rushing 
noisily, scattering spray upon the rocks that turned fast 
into ice as it fell. The sides of the ravine were absolutely 
impassable for thirty feet on both hands, and it was mad 
ness to think she could run back a distance of thirty feel 
and struggle up the first accessible rock, before her pursuer 
met her. Must she fall into his hands — was she, indeed, 
brought to bay ? 



THE SUTHF. BLANDB. 375 

She cast a frenzied look around the glittering walls of her 
prison ; oh, her cursed folly and forgetfulness ! Why had 
she not remembered the waterfall ! If she had but scaled 
the bank a few rods below it ! There was not a crevice, 
not a ledge behind which she could hide, nothing to shelter 
her from her foe, from the instant he gained the turn that 
led into the fatal den. She caught one wild hope, as she 
glanced up : a great tree, fallen across the gully, rested on 
the opposite rocks, and made a bridge twenty feet above 
her head. One branch hung from it, almost within her 
reach ; she might gain it by a spring — there was a chance it 
was decayed and weak, and indeed it looked too slight at 
best to hold her ; but it was the only hope. She flung her 
bundle into the stream, in which she was standing ankle- 
deep, and giving a spring like a wildcat, grasped the bough 
with both hands and struggled up it. It swayed and 
creaked — in another instant it would have given way ; but 
Nattee's bruised and bleeding arms were clinging to the 
rough trunk of the tree before it parted ; and swinging her- 
self up, she crept along on hands and knees upon it, and 
gained the bank just in time to look down and see through 
the rocks a black shadow in the moonlight standing under- 
neath the waterfall. 'No time for exultation — where should 
she turn next ? If she left the stream, she left the only 
guide through the wild forest, and yet it would be a guide as 
well to her pursuer ; and how long could such a flight be 
kept up ? But, clearing the bank of the stream about a 
dozen yards, she resumed the ascent of the mountain, keep- 
ing within sound of the brook, however, and withm sight 
of the rocks that lined its course. Farther up, she hoped 



876 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

there might be some asylum, where she could obtain a sLort 
respite, and indeed she sorely needed it,' for her strength 
was almost spent. She lagged painfully, as she toiled on, 
glancing constantly behind, ^d half-expecting every rao« 
ment to see her swift adversary at her heels. Now she 
egan to feel the misfortune of her tender rearing; for, 
Btrong and supple by nature, she had never learned the 
endurance and hardness that field-labor would have insured 
to her ; out-door and really hard work had never been im- 
posed on her ; and so, though she had begun her flight so 
bravely, it seemed to threaten she would not keep it up as 
well as she had begun it. 

A ledge of rock just ahead of her seemed to pronuse 
diflSculty of attainment, bitt security of retreat, if once 
attained. Wet, and bruised, and panting, she reached the 
foot of it, and essayed to climb it ; but the excitement 
that had attended her escape from the peril of the 
waterfall below was paying for itself upon her nerves just 
now. She lost her usual steadiness of hand and eye, and the 
climbing became a difficult and a dangerous experiment. 
Half way up, she lost her balance ; grasping a projecting 
stone for support, it gave way at her touch, and she fell 
]>ackward to the ground, the loosened stone striking heavDy 
upon her foot, then rolling slowly down the descent. For 
a few minutes, the agony she endured from the wound it 
had inflicted made her lose the sense of danger; she 
writhed upon the ground, and pressed her hand upon her 
mouth to suppress her scream of pain. But as the first 
sharpness of the suffering passed over, the real peril began 
to assert its nearness : she raised her head and listened. 



THE SdTHBBLANDB* 377 

Coming from the direction of the brook she heard steps ; 
there were too many trees and too much underbrush be- 
tween to allow her to see any one, but she felt the cat-like 
tread within a stone's throw of her, and tui-ned sick with 
fear when she tried to rise and found that she was worse 
than helpless. "TChe steps came on, cautiously and swiftly — 
they were within a rod of her retreat, when suddenly they 
halted. The stone that was rolling down the mountain 
caught, for the first time, the intruder's ear ; and well he 
might be startled at the sound. It had increased in velocity 
as it went on, and now, at this distance, seemed like 
nothing so*much as a person running heedlessly and swiftly 
down the hill, springing over obstacles, crashing through 
underbrush, falling against trees, pausing, then dashing on. 
For one moment there was a pause that seemed to Nattee 
ages of suspense and terror, and her heart gave one bound, 
and then almost stopped its beating, when she heard the 
quick steps of her pursuer hurrying down the hill in the 
direction of the distant sound that had deceived him. 

Yes, thank Heaven, she was safe ! Safe — ^but for how 
long ? — how many hours could she hope to remain undis- 
covered, within two miles of her master's house, in a tract 
of woodland well known to every man upon the place ? 
Once in the mountains, she could at least have had an equal 
chance with them ; or once well on the road to Kiskatom 
— but now I Every movement cost her unbearable agony ; 
she miflcht as well have been manacled and fettered as to 
lay there, crippled and helpless, two miles at least from 
safety, within hearing of the treacherous landmark that 
bad so nearly worked her ruin, and almost within sight of 



378 THE SUTHBBLANDS. 

the spot where she had thrown away her handle. By day 
light, her absence would be known to all the house ; and 
she shuddered and hid her face, as she remembered whose 
unchristian ears the news would first meet, and .what 
wrathful vengeance was brewing for her even then. Poor 
Nattee I 
" Oh, if I were only, only dead I Oh, if I only dared \^ 



CHiVPTER XXIV. 

THE DISCOVEBT. 

• Anger^s a hurricane inbred ; 
Meekness, a calm in heart and head ; 
Revenge, of war runs all the ills ; 
Forgiveness, sweets of peace instills. 

* The wicked, like the troubled sea, 

Are ne*er from storms of conscience free. 
They outrage God's all-seeing eye, 
Till they the devil's martyrs die." 

Bishop Ken. 

" Steady !" cried Salome in a voice which caused some 
agitation in that little girl's mind, " Steady, you run right 
upstaii's and tell that lazy piece she'll hear of it ef I hev to 
send for her agin." 

Steady dropped her knives, cast a frightened look at the 
unready breakfast-table, and hurried up, knocked faintly 
against Nattee's door, and waited for an answer. Now 
Steady was snubbed by everybody in the kitchen, and had 
grown very shy of conveying messages between the 
unfriendly parties in it, having found she was quite sure to 
do wrong whatever she did, and that the blows were more 
apt to fall on her than on anybody else. So after thumpin 
some t7me on the door and getting no answer, she contented 
herself with delivering Salome's message at the keyhole, 
%ad going downstairs again. 

879 



380 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

"Did you tell her, you snail?" cried Salome, as she 
entered the kitchen. 

" Yes, I told her," said little Steadfast, not doubting but 
she spoke the truth. She did not like to say Nattee was 
ugly and wouldn^t answer her, for fear of getting both 
Nattee and herself into trouble. 

After she had cleaned the knives to the last degree of 
cleanness, she bethought herself, " Can't I be getting the 
table ready for breakfast till she comes down ?" It was 
quite as much for the pleasure of doing something that she 
had never done before, as to help Nattee, that she set about 
it, but either motive would have been sufScient to give a 
zest to the employment. She succeeded in it beyond her 
hopes, however, and when Salome, still storming at Nattee's 
lazy ways, and threatening vengeance in the intervals of 
her work, dished the breakfast and actually allowed Steady 
to carry it in and put it on the table, it was the proudest 
moment of the little girl's life, and she forgot to be sorry 
for the rod that was pickling for Nattee. 

She was allowed to wait upon the breakfast-table, and 
acquitted herself so unobtrusively that no one (Mrs. 
Sutherland not being present), noticed the change from the 
ordinary attendant. Laura indeed said, "Why, Steady, 
are you here ?" But, besides an inquirmg smile, she did 
not embarrass her with questions upon the reasons of her 
resence. 

It so happened that the family were late in getting 
en route in the day's duties; the old man had overslept 
himself, and was as cross as possible in consequence, and 
the slaves seemed to have had a premonition of his tardinossi 



THE BUTHBBLANDS. 381 

and came lagging into the kitchen for their momiug meal a 
full half hour later than usual. Consequently, they were 
still lingering over it, when the family on the other side of 
the dividing partition sat down to theirs, and Salome, 
taking breath between their last griddleful of buckwheat- 
cakes and their betters' first installment of muflins, growled 
out some pretty hard things of Nattee, and vowed raassa 
should hear about her the very minute he got through his 
breakfast. Reasons of state prevented her going in person 
and hauling her down to judgment ; the attic stairs were 
steep and narrow, and one journey a-day was all she ever 
attempted ; besides, she always preferred avoiding a personal 
encounter with Nattee, and handing her over to the secular 
arm when it could conveniently be done. Nattee's eyes had 
a flash in them occasionally that made the old hypocrite 
uncomfortable, for like all blusterers, she was a profound 
coward, and she never railed on her enemy so unreservedly 
as when she was out of hearing. 

" The lazy, spiled, shiffless thing !" she vented her vexa 
tion that morning by muttering. " Ye*re all a wuthless set, 
if massa only knowed it^ every one o' ye ; but she heads ye 
all. She ain't wuth her salt — she's a nuisance to the house. 
And there's another," she went on venomously as Amen, 
with a hang-dog look, crept in at the kitchen door. " Where 
you been all this time, you little sarpint ? Comin' snoopin' 
in to breakfast this time o' day ! D'ye think ye're goin' te 
git it, say ? D'ye think so, now ?" 

" Who wants yer breakfast ?" muttered Amen, crawling 
toward the fire ; and indeed he looked as if he wanted heat 
much more than anything just then, for his clothes were 



882 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

wet and muddy, and the skin of which he was guilty had 
that peculiar hard, dry look that is consequent upon expo- 
sure to the cold in them of Africa. 

" Missahle little cuss !" cried Salome, looking at him 
disdainfully. " Jess you wait till Nattee comes down, and 
I'll have ye in, both on ye, before the massa. I'll see ef ye 
can't come to yer breakfast when I call ye." 

" Who wants yer breakfast ?" growled the limb agaio. 

This was unusual ; for however audacious at other times^ 
Aipen was ordinaiily very suave at meal-times, being fond 
of his stomach, and knowing that its interests would suffer 
materially from Salome's disaffection. "Who wants yer 
breakfast?" therefore sounded as if he were either too 
much preoccupied to want it, or as if he felt himself for 
some cause, temporarily invested mth an importance that 
rendered him independent of her favor. Salome could 
hardly keep her hands off him at this, she was so bitterly 
enraged; but she contented herself with hurling a few 
reproaches at him, which broke no bones and seemed to 
occasion him no disquiet. 

" Jess you wait," she reiterated, "jess you wait till that 
there Nattee comes down, and ef you two don't feel the 
heft o' massa's lash, my name's not Salome." 

" I'll hev to wait a while, then, ef I wait till she cornea 
down," Amen mumbled, poking his toes into the ashes. 

" No ye won't, neither," cried Salome, " fur ef she am't 
here in a couple o' minutes, I'll go up fur her myself." 

" Ye can save yerself the trouble," responded Ameo 
with great sangfroid^ "fur ye wouldn't find her." 

'*What d'ye mean?" snapped Salome, looking at hun 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 383 

sharply. "Speak up this minute — what d'ye mean by 
sayiu' that ?" 

But Amen, being sure that now he had the ear of the 
kitchen, was in no hurry to speak up ; he thrust his feet 
further into the ashes, and spread his hands before the 
blaze, and muttered impudently that he meant "jess" what 
he said, and beyond that no satisfaction could be got out 
of him till Rube, of whom he stood in some little awe, rose 
slowly from the table, and walked over to where he stood, 
and collared him firmly. 

" What's that ye said 'bout Nattee, hey ?" 

" Lemme 'lone," muttered Amen, struggling in his grasp. 
" Lemme 'lone, or I'll never tell ve nothin'." 

The old negro took his hand off him, but kept his eye on 
him, and bade him gruffly to proceed. Amen shook him- 
self and cast a fuitive glance around to ascertain the chance 
open to him of securing better terms and a more dignified 
position in which to deliver his intelligence; but Rube 
" had him on the hip ;" he might as well surrender his news 
without any further ado, the powerful old negro would 
shake it out of him if he did not. He growled something 
about Rube's half choking him, rubbed the back of his 
neck, looked much injured, and then informed his audience 
they might look upstairs and downstairs for Nattee, but 
they wouldn't find her, and that it 'ud be one while, hp 
reckoned, 'fore massa had the pleasure o' layin' the lash 
again on her. 

" Ye lie, ye whelp, I know ye lie," Salome said, hoarsely 
" She daren't run off to save her " 

" He'd better try lyin' to me," Rube ejaculated, approach 
ing his right hand to the youth's throat again. 



384 TH2 SUTHEBIiANDS. 

Anien dodged him, and cried, " Well, if ye think Fm 
lyin*, whar's the use o' talldng te rae ?" 

" I'll show ye whar's the use," muttered Rube, bringmu 
his hand down upon his neck. 

"Le' go, le' go," cried Amen, squirming away from 
him. " Ye know I ain't a lyin'. Look here ; ef I'm a 
lyin', what d'ye make o' that ?" And he flung down before 
them a wet and muddied bundle, tied up in one of Nattee'g 
familiar bright plaid aprons. There was a dead silence as 
Salome snatched it up and eagerly tore it open. 

" Where'd ye fine it ?" she said at last, in a boarse, low 
voice. 

" Ye'll iikely know when I tell ye, ole woman," the imp 
answered, with an elfish look. The men glanced from one 
to another with slow wonder and alarm ; the possibility of 
such a thing as this had never crossed their minds before. 
Rube broke the silence, by starting toward the attic door, 
and the whole group waited breathlessly till bis step waa 
heard stumbling down the stairs again. 

The old man sat down on a chair beside the door, and 
shook his head mournfully. "Well?" cried. Salome, im- 
patiently. 

" He's spoke true," he said at last. " He's spoke true. 
Her bed ain't been slep' in. The poor girl's gone; she's 
listened to evil counsels ; I might ha' knowed it. She's 
been too much over at the Methody's. Where's it all goin 
to end ! Poor girl, poor girl !" 

*' And who's to tell massa ?" Salome asked, in a subdued 
voice. 

*'Aye, who?" whispered the others, with a shiver. 
" Not I, for one,"— "Nor I" 



THE SUTHEBLAKBS. 385 

" Amen, you come along with me," said Rube, after a 
pause, getting up and going slowly toward the door. 
*' And mine you tell the truth to massa, or it '11 be the wus 
for you." 

" I'll mine," muttered the imp, and slunk along after his 
mentor. The rest of the group pressed on after them, and 
stood around the door, gazing with mingled wonder and 
alarm upon the scene. Laura, Warren and Larry were still 
at the table ; Ralph had moved over to the fire, and was 
smoking his pipe in his accustomed comer. It was a part 
of his creed never to look up when a door opened or any 
noise occurred, but to swear at it " on suspicion," without 
raising his eyes. So the sHght disturbance caused by the 
entrance of Rube and Amen, he greeted with his ordinary 
growl, and smoked on without turning his head. 

The hope of the holding out of the golden sceptre was 
evidently dimming in poor Rube's mind; he looked 
anxiously at his master, and twice essayed to speak ; there 
certainly was nothing encouraging in his face. 

"Well, Rube, what is it?" said Larry, after a pause. 
*' You seem to have something to say to my father." 

"I've got bad news to tell him, Massa Larry," Rube 
began, and then stopped. Larry had suspected as much 
from the portentous faces around the kitchen door, but his 
apprehensions had not travelled beyond the rifling of the 
hen-roost, or the loss of a dozen more of sheep. 

" That's a pity. Rube, but bad news don't improve by 
keeping, so you'd better let us hear it." 

" I wish to goodness I didn't hev to tell ye, Massa T^arry, 
hut — but — Nattee's run away " 

n 



386 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

Old Ralph raised his head with a horrid oath, and told 
him that he lied. 

" I wish I did, massa," said the old man. " I wish yon 
may fine out it ain't true — but I'm powerful 'fraid there 
ain't no hope o' that." 

"Nattee!" exclaimed Lawrence, rising quickly. "I 
can't believe it ; Rube, there's some mistake." 

" Massa Larry, I tell ye I wish there wus — ^but there ain't 
no chance o' it. She must ha' gone las' night. Her bed 
ain't been slep' in, and here's her bundle Amen found 
somewhere in the woods — ^an — he kin tell ye what he 
knows." 

Ralph, after the first moment, had sunk down into his 
ordinary slouching attitude, and after fixing his wolfish eyes 
for a moment on Amen, turned them to the floor, and 
smoked on as if he neither heard nor saw. Larry, approach- 
ing the boy, with an appalling sternness bade him tell 
shortly and truly all he knew, on pain of his heaviest dis- 
pleasure. 

Amen, thus adjured, began his statement of the night'si 
adventures, going back to Nattee's visit early in the even- 
ing, to the house of Mr. Pound, of which fact he had sur- 
reptitiously possessed himself, and upon which he had based 
his suspicions of her fidelity. He related pretty clearly the 
circumstances of his arousing, tracing her down the lane, 
finding the wounded dog, and following her into the woods. 
In fact, the only points, in all his narrative, in which ho 
deviated from the truth, were, first, as to the exact spot 
where he had picked up the bimdle ; second, the distance he 
bad gone before ho lost track of her ; and tMrd, the waj 



THE 8 U T H E B.L A N D S » 387 

and manner of his losing it. All which deviations were to 
be referred solely to his desire to make himself out astonish- 
ingly fleet and dexterous in his pursuit, and to give his 
audience the impression that all that could have been done 
by one person had been done by him. So that, in reality, 
he conveyed the idea that the fugitive was already beyond 
pursuit, in the mountains above, guided and sheltered by 
some of the Indians of her tribe. 

Lawrence walked up and down the room with knit brow 
and compressed lips, Warren leaned upon the table and 
watched the narrator with an anxious face, and Laura 
trembled and turned pale. Only the master of the house 
showed no agitation and no interest, smoking his pipe and 
swaying himself very slightly backward and forward as he 
smoked. But when the boy had* finished his story, and 
had answered two or three hasty questions put to him by 
Lawrence, and there had been a pause of several minutes, 
the old man arose, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, laid it 
on the shelf, and walking forward, rested both hands on 
the table, and raised his eyes and fixed them on the group. 

"Ye're likely niggers, all of ye," he said, in a slow, 
deliberate voice, "likely niggers, and as quick to scent 
your game as any Indian devil of 'em all. I turn ye out 
into the woods this minute, to hunt 'em till ye find that 
wench, and I trust ye to bring her back to me alive or 
dead. He that does, has twenty pounds ; he that leaves a 
stone unturned, had better look to it that I don't find 
it out. And he that in the smallest way shall favor her 
escape, will have good cause to thank his luck if he comes 
out alivo from underneath the lash. VoUj saddle m« 



388 THE SUTHBRLANDS. 

Dirck, and yow, make all the haste you can, 'cross lots to 
Caspar's, and ask him how many men he'll spare me for 
this business. Let Dave mount Jess, take the short cut 
to Kiskatom, and put 'em on the scent. Neighbor Yander- 
vleeck I'll see myself; Amen, stay where ye are till I give ye 
leave to stir. Go now, the rest of ye — and lose no time." 

The negroes slunk away quickly from his malignant eye, 
to huddle together, frightened and uncertain, in the kitchen, 
loathing and fearing their cruel errand, yet fearing more to 
disregard it. Lawrence continued his quick walk up and 
down the room, with a sterner and darker face than Laura 
had ever seen him wear before. Warren got up, as his 
uncle left the room, and following him, said : 

" May I speak to you a moment, sir ?" 

As the door closed, Lawrence brought his walk to an 

end. " This is a dreadful business, Laura," he said quickly, 

'I must be before him — ^there is not a minute to lose, 

STou will tell mother about it — poor mother ! I wish she 

did not have to know I" 

" But, Lawrence !" faltered Laura, as he embraced her, 
" you must not go, you are not fit — it is madness " 

'* My darling, I have no choice. If I were ten times 
more unfit than I am now, I should have to go. You must 
not mind — ^I will take care." 

And in a moment more, Laura was left alone by the 
window, watching anxiously the hurried preparations at the 
bam. Brown Bess, saddled and bridled, though, was the 
first horse led out, and Lawrence, waving her an adieu, 
galloped down the lane before old Ralph issued from th« 
house, spurred and booted for the chase. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE CHAPEL. 

•* All that He asks on Israel's part, 
Is only, that the captive heart 

Its woe and burden feci" -" 

Eeble. 

But the chase was destined to prove anything but satig« 
factory to its leader. A more diligent and thorough one 
had never scoured the Five-Mile Woods, nor the adjacent 
wilds above. "Whatever reluctance the poor fugitive's own 
comrades may have felt at assisting in the hunt for her, it 
was fully overcome by their terror of their master's wrath, 
and the neighboring negroes who were enlisted in the ser- 
vice had no scruples to overcome, and much to animate 
them in the proposed reward. There was no stone left 
unturned ; the whole country, far and near, was beaten up ; 
neighbors were warned and placed on the lookout, and such 
was the sympathy among those early advocates of the 
peculiar institution, settled by the mother country upon the 
colonies before they were old enough to choose for them- 
selves, that one and all, for miles around, lent readily their 
influence against the fugitive. 

Her chance seemed slim, indeed. Men, and dogs, and 
horses were trampling down every inch of swamp nnd 
thicket between the Sutherland farm and the outskirts of 
the county; hunters, familiar with the mountains, were 



390 THE SUTHEBLAINDS. 

beating up every lair and cavern ; bonfires blazed at night 
from Round Top and Pine Orchard ; no money, nor men, 
nor vigilance was spared. If the price of the girl were 
twice expended in lier capture, Ralph Sutherland would 
not have grudged the money, but he would not be balked 
of his revenge. A most blood-thirsty rancor possessed 
itself of him ; all his evil passions went to feed it. This girl, 
as the household favorite, had long been his aversion. He 
saw that every member of it, Salome, perhaps, excepted, 
longed to see him thwarted in recovering her, and at once 
to torture his wife, startle the new comers, baffle Lawrence, 
and strike awe into those who might be tainted by her 
example, became his engrossing resolution. 

And as the first night closed in, and the returning scouts 
brought no intelligence of her capture, and the second day 
was ending with no happier result, his resolution deepened 
into a vindictive purpose, from which he vowed he never 
would turn back. Alive or dead, he would again obtain 
possession of her. It was Ahab lusting for the vineyard of 
Naboth the Jezreelite ; Haman loathing his life because of 
Mordecai the Jew. It was nothing to him that she was a 
chattel, easily replaced and personally indifferent to him ; 
that he was sinking all her worth upon this ill-starred 
expedition ; that she was below revenge ; that he would be 
none the richer, none the ejasier, when he had regained her. 
His wicked life was drawing to that point that answers to 
perfection ; " his vices were unalloyed by a single virtue ;" 
he had got rid, it had begun to seem, of all mere human 
frailty, and had become all over fiendish ; and just at this 
high point of sin, the Arch-Enemy himself deserted him, as 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 391 

ne principally does his votaries, betraying them at last to 
ruin by some most paltry, most transparent snare, and 
leaving them to lead the horrible remnant of their ill-spent 
lives stripped of the strength and courage he has till then 
supplied. 

Those two days were slow and dreadful ones to the 
women who watched at home for the news they so much 
feared. Poor Mrs. Sutherland was very much overcome 
at the intelligence of her favorite's ungrateful flight ; but 
she had loved her too many years not to lose all resent- 
ment at her ingratitude, in solicitude for her safety, when 
she came to see the heavy wrath brooding in her husband's 
eyes. The most painful presentiments of evil, indeed, filled 
the minds of all who saw him. He hardly tasted food, and 
half the night his heavy tread across the chamber floor pro- 
claimed his restless vigil. 

Through the second day Mrs. Sutherland wandered about 
the house like one in a dream, quite neglecting her ordinary 
household duties, starting at every sound, and stealing to 
the window to watch, trembling for the coming news. She 
turned instinctively to Laura for support ; but Laura, pale 
and anxious, was suffering hardly less. Lawrence was gone 
all day, and his return at night brought no encouragement, 
except what could be gathered from the quiet resoluteness 
of his manner, and tlie unshaken determination that his eye 
expressed. It was a gloomy, gloomy evening, and the next 
day was worthy of its fellowship. Little Steady wont about 
her work with red eyes and choking voice, and Salome^ 
triumphing in Nattee's downfell as she did, could not foi 
bear a shivering apprehension of what must come upon ber 



392 TUV SUTHEBLANDS. 

The men straggled in at iiTegular intervals, ani ate their 
chance meal standing by the cupboard or sitting down 
silent by the fireplace. All regular work was intermitted, 
and a greater contrast to the usual noisy, merry kitchen, 
could hardly be imagined than it now presented. They 
talked in whispers of the strange event — the unaccountable 
disappearance of all traces of her they sought, the wonde^ 
ful fact of her long concealment, but the no less positive 
certainty that sooner or later she must be found. Their 
master's strength of will and unshrinking hardihood of pur- 
pose had impressed them more than anything else within 
the range of their expeiience, and the half smothered con- 
viction, which more than one among them cherished 
secretly, that he was in league with the Evil One himself, 
did not tend to raise their hop^s for Nattee. 

But of all the household, Warren, perhaps, suffered the 
most acutely from this strange occurrence. His conscience, 
refined and enlightened beyond that of any others who 
were connected with the event, felt more keenly the many 
sins that -had gone to bring it about. Close contact with 
such wickedness as his uncle's was unspeakable pain to one 
who had the power to fathom it as he had ; he shuddered 
as he gazed down the black abyss, knowing too surely 
where it ended. Nor had he spared to warn him of the 
danger ; but an angel from heaven could not have restrained 
the old man then. And for his cousin, Warren had many 
fears. How much he had to do with the present perversion 
of right and order in the family, he could only conjecture ; 
but his self-will, and his imperious temper, seemed inevi- 
tably to Warren to be working out some heavy retribution 



THE 8UTHEBLAND8. 3&S 

for him. Perhaps, unacknowledged to himself, he had very 
much the same fear in regard 1 } the reward of his haughti- 
ness and lofty looks that his brother in the ministry so 
loudly proclaimed and prophesied, but softened by the 
great affection he felt for him, and the strong hope he 
had of some gentler way of change. But deep as was 
his love for him, ' and entire as his admiration for the 
thorough manliness and strength of his character, he could 
not help seeing reliance on it had been his bane ; it was 
placing him at war with religion, and blinding him to 
its inevitable, only, simple way to lasting peace and real 
strength. 

It seemed to Warren as if the household were all wrong — 
a good and prosperous edifice founded on shifting sands, 
and surrounded by treacherous and engulphing seas. The 
timid and fluttering faith of the poor mother had been the 
only safeguard it had had thus far — the only charm that 
had stayed the proud waves at its base ; but now the storm 
was rising in^ which it should be tried. Warren's thoughts 
went back to the past — the purchase of this vast estate 
What was it but the reward of iniquity ? What had every 
year's record of it in heaven been but " the wicked in pros- 
perity " — a house established in unrighteousness ? He 
could not keep his faith and not feel apprehension for its 
future. 

But the sins of others, though they oppressed and sad- 
dened him, did not form the burden, he knew, appointed to 
him to bear. He realized most bitterly he had had a part 
to fill, since he had been a member of this family, that he 
had filled but tamely and lukewarmly. Tf H* had felt a$ 

17* 



394 THK 8UTHEBLAND8. 

Strongly as he had seen clearly the dangers by whid they 
were surrounded, would he have laid his plaiB so quietly 
and gone to work so calmly ? Would he not rather have 
had the zeal and fervor of him he had looked upon with 
something like contempt ? Would he have spared day or 
night to tell them of their errors ? Would he have trusted 
so much to time, and the working of his system ? Ah ! but 
a little flock had been committed to his care, and here was 
one lost already. Hoav should he answer, at the great day 
of account, for that neglect? How would that wail cry 
forever in his ears! He had prayed for her — he had 
striven silently to reach her heart ; but had he put the pas- 
sion into his prayers, the earnestness into his efforts that he 
would have done if her mortal body, instead of her immor- 
tal soul, had been in danger of perishing before his eyes ? 
How cold and dead his faith must be, never to have 
awakened him before to this dreadful possibility. Whole 
days and nights of prayer and self-abasement seemed utterly 
powerless to express his deep contrition, as they were 
incompetent to atone for his omissions, but a truer penitent 
than he never strove to humble soul and body before 
heaven, and to bring both down to the dust. Very little, 
the rest of the family would have said, he had to reproach 
himself with, in this or any other matter, saintly, sel^ 
denying, devotional, as his whole life seemed to them 
They never guessed the tortures of self-reproach and peni- 
tence that he was passing through during those two days 
of miserable suspense, and he never dreamed in what 
esteem they held his life ; but it is well, perhaps, both for 
themselves and others, that, as Bishop Taylor says, -wliU* 



THE SUTHBBL^NDS. 39S 

the saints are like lanterns in^he world, the dark side is 
toward themselves. 

It was nothing of unusual occurrence, when that evening 
after supper, some one inquired " "Where's Warren ?" that 
Laura answered, " he is at the chapel, and told me not to 
expect him home to-night.'* 

The little vestry room had latterly become his favorite 
retreat, a great proportion of his books were there ; 
Rube's care had supplied liim with an inexhaustible supply 
of dry and easily kindled Avood, and the isolation and 
dreariness of the spot were so niuch to his taste, that there 
seemed a danger of his being too much in love with his 
little hermitage, and shunning the home circle more than 
accorded with his duty. At first, Laura had dreadful 
dreams when he did not come back at night, and his aunt 
remonstrated earnestly. But he soon convinced them he 
was more comfortable there ; there was no fireplace in his 
own room at home, and he could accomplish twice as much 
study over there alone, as when he attempted it in the 
sitting-room among the family circle. And it was much 
more exposing and uncomfortable to walk back late at 
night through the woods, than to throw himself upon the 
little lounge beside the fire, and sleep till morning. To all 
this they finally gave in, and it was now a regular thing for 
Warren to leave them after supper, as often as three nights 
in the week, and not to return again till breakfast time. 

Mrs. Sutherland, however, looked up uneasily that even* 
ing, and said : 

" Has Warren gone without his supper ? I must senc! 
him some," 



396 THE BUTHEBLANDS. 

"I don't think he wants any, dear aunt," said Laura, 
listlessly, sitting by the window and looking earnestly for 
some sign of Lawrence's return. 

" Steady must surely take some over to him though," her 
aunt returned, glad, perhaps, of something to divert her 
thoughts momentarily from their gloomy source of anxiety. 
She busied herself about preparing something for him, 
and filling a little basket, set it down out in the hall, 
telling Steady to hurry through her work and take it to 
him, and then did not give the subject another thought. 
It was very unlike Mrs. Sutherland to give so careless a 
direction ; she would, at any other time, have reflected 
that by the time little Steady had completed her unusually 
heavy work, removed the supper, and arranged the room, 
it would be perfectly dark, and every way unfit to send her 
out into the woods. But in truth the poor lady's mind was 
so absorbed with her anxieties and apprehensions, that she 
did not give the matter a second thought, and did not even 
miss Steady, when, an hour later, the child, with trembling 
hands, tied on her hood, grasped the basket, and stole out 
into the night. She was not habitually timid, but she would 
have been more than human, if, in those superstitious days, 
and among those ignorant dependents, she had not caught 
something of their terror of the darkness. The horrid 
stories that were whispered round the kitchen fire at 
night did not lose any of their effect upon her mind, 
because they were not intended to meet her ear. She add 
her prayers, poor little woman, over and over, as she 
hurried along toward the dreaded woods, and past her own 
deserted little home, and tried not to think of what Salome 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 397 

said, and what Dave saw further on, and where it was Joe 
heard that awful groan. 

She knew the path so well, it was not very hard for her 
to keep it, notwithstanding the darkness and her fears ; 
she never thought of turning back, the possibility of not 
doing as she had been told to do had never occurred to her 
mind ; the most she dared do was to wish the wood were 
shorter, and to hope Mr. Warren would not send her back 
alone. At last, however, she emerged from them upon 
the open hill, and caught the glimmer of a hght from the 
little vestry room window. • 

The woods behind the chapel looked very black indeed, 
but the sky, now she was used to the darkness, was nearer 
to a pallid grey than the black she had supposed. Ah ! 
And there was that solitary grave, of which no one had 
as yet taught her any fear, and the little wreath of immor- 
telles that had hung upon it since All Saints. There was 
light enough to see it quite distinctly, and she stopped a 
moment by it, resting her hands upon it, serious and sub- 
dued. Mr. Warren had taught her to say, " I believe in 
the Communion of Saints," when she stood by her father's 
grave, and to repeat part of the thirty-ninth Psalm. The 
obedient little formalist did not forget his teaching; it 
had been her faithful service every time she had come 
thei'e since his burial. And, half aloud, half in a whisper, 
she repeated the solemn words of the funeral anthem, 
made forever holy in her ears since that sad day. Poor 
child, there was more pathos in her recital oi those lact 
verses than she guessed, more meaning in them than she 
had learned to read : 



398 TUB BUTHEBLANDS. 

" Hear my prayer, O Lord, and with Thine ears consider 
my calling ; hold not Thy peace at my tears : 

" For I am a stranger with Thee, and a sojourner as all 
my fathers were. 

" O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength be- 
fore I go hence and be no more seen." 

When Mr. Warren, starting up at her low knock, opened 
the door, he met Steadfast's own serious, literal eyes, as so- 
ber and unagitated as if she had been standing by the 
cheerful fireside of her home. 

"Steady!" he exclaimed in wonder, admitting her, "what 
are you doing here this dark night ? Did any one come 
with you ?" 

A few words explained her story, and Mr. Warren 
passed his hand kindly over her brown hair, as he said: 

" You are a little Steadfast, there is no room for doubt. 
How did you like coming through the woods ?" 

" I didn't like it, Mr. Warren, I ran." 

" Pm sorry to hear that, Steady. I should like to thiok 
you were not afraid." 

"But I was, Mr. Warren." 

" You'll know better one of these days, I hope. Steady, 
However, I cannot send you back alone. Sit down there 
on that bench by the fire, while I finish what I am about, 
and then I will take you home." 

It was quite a self-denial to him to give up his quiet 
night, but he could not think of letting the child go back 
alone at such an hour, and with such wild doings in the 
woods as they had lately witnessed: so while she sat 
demurely down beside the fire, Warren hurried to finish 



i 



THE B U T H E B LuA » D 8 . 399 

the abstract he was makmg, preparatory to putting up hia 
books and extinguishing his light and fire. She was so 
quiet, however, that in a few moments he forgot her pre- 
sence, and became entirely absorbed in his pursuit. 

A half hour perhaps passed by before he was recalled to 
what he had promised to do, by the sight of her. A slight 
unusual noise, as of something softly slid along the stone 
floor of the chapel, had caused him to look up. There lay 
Steady, however, fast asleep upon the hearth, with her 
arms upon the bench, innocent of any movement, quiet as a 
shadow. 

" It must have been my fancy," Warren thought, as he 
resumed his writing. Presently something Hke it came 
again. 

" It is no fancy now," he thought, laying down his pen 
and hstening. But there succeeded such a silence he began 
^gain to doubt himself. 

Whether fancied or real, however, it had effectually 
broken up his train of thought ; so closing his books, he 
pushed them back, and leaned his head upon his hands. 
The isolation and dreariness of the place came over him 
very strongly as, for the moment, he listened to the wind 
sighing through the trees outside, and looked at the sleep"« 
ing child and the dying fire within. Perhaps, also, weak- 
ened by his long fast, and his recent strong emotions, 
he listened a little more to the whisperings of fancy and 
the suggestions of the hour than he was apt to do. The 
sight of the quiet little sleeper j too, perhaps, recalled th<? 
sad event that on this spot had made her friendless an^ 
orphaned, and had left her so peculiaHy in his care. 



400 inn SUTHBBLANDS. 

"If I neglect you too, poor baby!" he said, \^ath a 
groan, covering bis eyes with his hands. Mark's sad, re- 
proachful face came before him, mixed with the memory 
of poor Nattee's eager, wistful eyes, as he had caught 
them fixed on him during the All Saints sermon ; and he 
felt, for one dreadful moment, a faint foretaste of that pang 
that at the very gates of Heaven even the righteous must 
endure, as, entering them, he parts forever from the lost 
multitudes without, and, looking back, catches on the 
ghastly faces gazing after him, despair, reproach, and 
anguish. It came upon him so suddenly and vividly that 
when he raised his head his forehead was wet, nnd his 
cheek ashy pale. He conquered himself with effort, and 
rising, w^alked hurriedly back and forth across the narrow 
room. 

" Good Master ! help me to remember it !" he murmured ; 
** help me to keep the vow I make, never 'to forget that vision, 
never to suffer it to pale. I will bind it as frontlets between 
my eyes ; I will Avrite it on my heart ; I will think upon it 
lying down and rising up ; I will work to save the souls of 
men as I would wish I had worked at that day ; I will wish 
myself accursed from Christ if by my means the lowest of 
my brethren be ; I wiU pray never to be admitted to those 
holy courts if there must be shut out one soul whom I have 
failed to warn, one wretch whose eyes can turn reproach- 
fully on me !*' 

He went into the chapel, and throwing himself upon hiM 
knees, bowed his face upon the chancel rail, and remained 
in that altitude for a long, long while. When at length he 
rose he found himself utterly in darkness, the vestry-room 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 401 

door bad fallen shut after him, and so little light was there 
outside that he could hardly trace the outline of the win- 
dows in the wall. He descended the three steps that led 
up to the chancel and tried to grope his way toward the 
vestry-room. He could see the light under the crack of the 
door and was going toward it, when his foot struck on 
some obstruction on the floor, which, stooping down, he 
discovered, with a chill of undefinable alarm, was one of the 
flat stones that paved the aisle, half raised from its place, 
and lying with its edge upon the next in order to it. 

This accounted instantly for the strange noise that had 
aroused him from his studies — it had not been fancy, after 
all. He now remembered rapidly, this stone had been left 
loose as a sort of entrance, if there should ever be necessity, 
to the excavation underneath the chapel. The heavy spring 
rains, it had been feared, might at some time undermine it, 
and the precaution had been taken to leave some way open 
to examine occasionally into the state of the foundations. 
Warren was not given to superstition, neither was he easily 
brought under the power of material terrors, but he could 
not help acknowledging there was a look about this 
that he did not like. What companion might he not have 
had here during his solitary vigils ! What guilt might not 
have hidden there while the little congregation worshipped 
quietly above ! Surely no purpose but an evil one could 
prompt such secrecy and the choice of such a spot. These 
thoughts suggested themselves to him in rapid succession, 
as he made his way to the vestry-room door. He pushed it 
open, and a flood of light streamed across the chapel. He 
followed rapidly with his eye its illuminating path till it 



102 THE SUTHBBLANDQ. 

showed him, crouching down against the wall, and clinging 
to the chancel rail, the figure of a woman. 

He started involuntarily, then said in a low, strange voice, 
coming toward her after an instant's pause : 

" Nattee ! is it you ? I have just been praying for yom" 

Yes, it was Nattee ; but what a wreck, what a transform 
ation ! Warren's heart smote him as the figure of the lithe 
pretty mulatto girl rose up in his recollection and placed 
itself beside this haggard, wild-eyed fugitive. Her cheeks 
were sunken, her mouth had that ghastly, inexpressive look 
that comes from protracted pain of mind and body, and her 
eyes Avere those of a hunted wild beast. The torn and tat- 
tered dress that hung about her, the heavy, straight, black 
hair falling about her shouldera, the stains upon her neck 
and arms — what a contrast to the trim and tidy maid of one 
short week ago I 

" Nattee," said the clergyman, as she shrunk away at 
his approach, " you need not be afraid of me ; have I not 
always showed myself your friend ?" 

" Nobody is that now," she murmured in a strange, hol- 
low voice, averting her face from him. He sat down on the 
chancel steps a little way from her, and resting his arm upon 
the rail, bent slightly forward and looked at her virith earn 
estness. 

" We are all better friends to you than you are to your-* 
self, my poor girl. You have been listening to evil coun- 
sels, and have been nearly destroyed by them ; but I thank 
Qod, He has brought you back and kept you from the ruin 
they designed." 

There was a j)ause, and then Warren went on : " It is not 



THB SUTHEBLANDS. 403 

the destruction and danger of your body that I mean, Nat- 
tee ; it is the peril to your soul. If you were a thousand 
miles from here to-night, secure in ease and comfort,- you 
would be in more real danger than you are now in this 
place, for you would be further from a state of repentance ; 
you would not have it in your power to atone for your siu 
as you have it now. Oh, Nattee, my poor girl ! if you 
knew how I had prayed for you! How I had wept for 
you ! I believe God has heard me, after all. I believe He 
has sent me here to-night to tell you He forgives you, and 
loves you, and will receive you as His child forever. Oh, 
Nattee ! take this great mercy ! Throw yourself down at 
His feet and ask Him to forgive you, and save you and direct 
you ! You don't know how much better the service of God 
is, than all the freedom of the world. You would never 
hesitate between them if you did." 

An inarticulate ejaculation of despair escaped her as she 
buried her face in her hands. 

" I know what you would say, Nattee : you would say 
you did not have the choice ; no one told you of God's ser- 
vice, and you had no chance of trying the freedom that the 
world enjoys. I take shame to myself for the first, but for 
last, depend upon it, you are best without it, since God did 
not give it to you. And He does not willingly afiiict or 
grieve the children of men : like as a father pitieth his own 
children, so is the Lord merciful to them that fear Him. 
Think how hard it must be for Him to punish us, Nattee ; 
think how He is pitying you to-night, how He has pitied you 
through all these dreadful days. How it must grieve Him 
that you have gone wrong and turned away from your duty.*' 



iOi THE SITTHEBLANDB. 

" I couldn't go any way that wasn't wrong," she cried, 
with a sudden flame of desperation; "it was all miserable 
and tangled, every way. Some told me this way was right, 
and some told me that way was right, and God didn't tell 
me how to choose. Oh, why won't they let me alone! 
Why won't they let me die and be out of their way for- 
ever !" 

Warren waited till the burst of passion that followed this 
had subsided a little, and then said quietly : " You say 
God didn't tell you how to choose ; perhaps He is telling 
you now. Perhaps He is showing you how hard the way 
of transgression is, and how little happiness is gained by 
going out of the way of duty after it. Perhaps He means 
to bring you back to the right way by makiag the wrong 
way seem hard. Do not think I blame you, Nattee ; my 
heart aches for you, poor child ! I know it is ignorance and 
misfortune that has led you into sin. Listen to me now, 
and answer me afterward if you do not think I am right ; 
if your heart does not tell you I am speaking truth and jus- 
tice. Somebody has made you believe, Nattee, somebody 
kind and well-meaning, too, but terribly mistaken, in his 
kindness, that you are wronged and injured by being held 
to service without your own consent; that your rights are 
trampled on by being placed in charge of another, not 
given to yourself. Well, if this man who tells you so is 
light, how many wise and righteous men are very wrong, 
who tell a totally different story. They take it for granted 
that God, putting you by birth into a cert^n station 
in life, knew it was the best one for your soul's salvation 
(souls aie to live forever, Nattee, and bodies live but 



THE 8UTHEBLAND8. 405 

a little while) ; and so, instead of quarrelling with Him fof 
putting you in it, or with your master for keeping you in 
it, they go to work to help you to make the best of it while 
you are in it. They tell you to be humble and not think 
you deserve a better lot than has been assigned to you ; 
every minute of our Great Master's life was a lesson of un 
complaining humbleness. They tell you to be patient, and 
to remember that your light affliction, which endures but for 
a moment, will one day work out for you a far more exceed- 
ing weight of glory, to be your portion through all eternity. 
They tell you to be just and reasonable, and not to look for 
what never happens to the children of men — freedom from 
a yoke more or less hard, and a discipline more or less un- 
easy to flesh and blood. They tell you there is no man 
living whom God does not chastise in some way ; some He 
binds Avhole years to beds of pain, wasting them with pin- 
ing sickness ; from some He takes away all hope and hap- 
piness, and leaves them bare of everything but freedom ; 
others drag out their lives in such disappointment, misery 
and gloom, that they long wearily for the end ; toil and 
anxiety and ill success make many a freeman's nights and 
davs harder and lonojer than the Aveariest slave's that ever 
worked. And all for the saving of their souls ; all to accom- 
plish the work that the Son of God began for them upon the 
Cross. He did His part in our salvation patiently, but it is 
lost to us if we are impatient of the part we have to do our- 
selves. I have never found but one way to peace, and that ia, 
the way of submission. In the matters of our souls and of 
our bodies, in the affairs of this world and in the mysteries 
of the next, I know no wisdom so sure as God's wisdom; 



406 T U R BUTHEBIiANDS. 

• 

no wiil so powerful, no heart so merciful, as His. Leave it aU 
to Him, both rewards and punishments ; our thinking about 
their justness can do us no possible advantage : just or un- 
just, the dealing of them lies with God, and always will lie 
with Him. What remains for us — ^for you and me, Nattee 
— is submission to His will, patience under His hand. Tell 
me, is there any — any other way ?" 

ISTattee made a broken murmur of assent, but did not. 
raise her head, and after a pause, Warren went on speak- 
ing : " Perhaps what I have said is not so pleasant to 
believe as the advice others have given to you, but believe 
me, Nfittee, it is nearer to the truth. No one pities you 
more than I do, no one longs more to see you happy, but I 
cannot tell you wrong is right — I cannot let my pity come 
between me and my duty. You arc one of those placed in 
my care, one of those whom I am bound to teach. I am 
obliged, if I see you do wrong, to tell you of it, and to 
show you what is right. Nor must you think it hard in 
me, and cruel, if I tell you that your duty is plainly this — 
to go back to your master, acknowledge you have done 
amiss, and submit to any punishment he may choose to lay 
upon you." 

" I can't — I can't — oh, Master Warren — don't say I must 
go back !" cried Nattee, shuddering. 

" But I must say that, Nattee, I dare not say anything 
different. I should be conspiring \\dth you to commit a 
robbery if I did. For your time, your labor is not your 
own ; the laws of the land give it to your master. He 
has given you a home, protection, subsistence, from your 
i»ifancy — ^you are bound to give him through your life, 



THE SUTHERLAND8. 407 

jour service in return. If this seems bard, do not blamo 
him — do not blame me. The laws of a great, just, Christiaii 
kingdom sanction it; and we are bound to respect them 
till we are empowered to change them. I know, ISTattee, 
you have not a kind master, but neither has your mistress 
a kind husband, nor Mr. Lawrence a kind father, and yet 
they have never, to my knowledge, rebelled against his 
government. He has been severe with you, but never, I 
believe, sufficiently so to justify your leaving him. I can 
regret this very much, but I cannot see it has any remedy 
but patience. The uneasiness of our relations to each other 
in this world alone cannot sanction our dissolving them ; if 
it could, think of the misrule that would soon prevail — 
children breaking away from parents, servants from mas- 
ters, wives from husbands, subjects from rulers. And 
believe me, Nattee, the lot of those in your station is far 
less sad than you have recently been taught to think. You 
have the same moral rights that others have, the game rela- 
tion to God, the same title to salvation. Tb.f faithful per- 
formance of yoiu" duty will win the same reward from 
heaven, the same respect from men ; what do you lack but 
the grant of personal, present freedom, the privilege of 
going where you please, doing what you ple?.se, subject to 
no will but your own. It is a privilege, I grant — a great 
privilege ; but besides slaves, many — wives, children, ap- 
prentices, soldiers — have to be guided by the will of others ; 
he proportion of those who are appointed to guide and 
direct themselves, is very small. This thing of libf rty, con- 
sidered by itself, is not so indispensable to happineao^ after 
alL Tell me, Nattee, had you ever thought about it- -evft" 



408 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

longed for it — before you were pitied and condoled with 
for the want of it ?" 

" No," said the poor girl, hesitatingly ; " I don't think 
I used to mind — ^I don't remember whether I knew any- 
thing about it then." 

*' Then, Nattee, the best thing for you to do is to go 
back to the way of those happier days, and forget all you 
have heard about it since, and be ab you were then, only 
wiser and faithfuUer." 

'' I can't go back to those days," poor Nattee murmured, 
with fresh tears. "I can't be like I was then — I dont 
expect to be happy again, ever, but I want to do what's 
right, even if it's hard — I want — ^I want to get God to for- 
give me." 

*' Then, my poor girl, God is ready to forgive you. He 
is ready to help you to do His will, if you are ready to give 
up your own." 

" I haven't got any will of my own any more. I'm so 
miserable I don't care what becomes of me. I'd rather die 
if God will let me — but I'll try to bear it if I have to live. 
Oh, Master Warren I if you only knew how I've tried to 
find out what it all means I how I've wanted to be good— 
you'd help me — I know you would." 

She stretched out her hands with a passionate gesture, 
and went on, hurriedly : " I don't know how to pray ; I 
don't know how to make God hear ; I haven't got any 
words that's fit — but my heart is breaking — 1 shall die if 
He don't listen, I shall die if He don't help me — ^I'm afiaid 
of all my sins — I don't know where to go." 

" Oui- merciful Saviour says, ' He that cometh to me 1 



THE SUIHSBLANDS. 409 

will in no wise cast out.' Is it not to Him you ought 
to go ?" 

" But I don't know how, I don't know what to say. 1 
haven't been baptized and made a Christian — how can I 
know He'll hear me till I am ?" 

" Has any one ever told you about baptism, Nattee ? do 
you know what is required of persons who come to be bap- 
tized ?" asked Warren, thoughtfully. 

" I heard you talking about it to the men, one day, and 
I've listened when Miss Laura's been teaching Steady — per- 
haps I don't understand — ^but, oh " She stopped with 

a bewildered, wistful look. 

" If you understand, you mean you wish you were bap- 
tized yourself?" 

She gave an eager, anxious motion of assent, and Warren 
said: 

" Listen, then, and I will make you understand it. You 
believe in our Lord Jesus Christ, and that He died to savo 
you, and lives now, and knows and watches you ?" 

" Oh, yes ; I believed that long ago." 

" And you are heartily sorry for your sins ?" 

With a groan she turned her face away, and said : " Yes, 
I'm worse'n sorry." 

" And you know He is the only One who can forgive 
them ?" 

" Yes, I know it." 

" And you want to be better, and to serve God faiths 
fuUy, and to keep His commandments honestly ?" 

" K He will only help me I" 

" Then, Nattee, I know no reason why you should not 

18 



410 THE aUTHEBLANDS. 

be baptized. It is your only safety, and I dare not refus« 
it to you, even though you have not been instructed for it. 
Come to me to-morrow " 

"To-morrow," she interrupted, hastily. *'Why must 
you wait till then ? — why don't you save me now, to-night ? 
Oh, Mr. Warren, you don't know what may happen — ^per- 
haps I may die before to-morrow — perhaps yon won't be 
here yourself — perhaps they won't let you. You don't 
know, and I am afraid to wait — I am so afraid. You won't 
turn me away from what's to save me — you won't keep 
away from me what God says I have a right to. Oh, Mr. 
Warren ! tliink how you would feel — think how awfully 
sorry you would be " 

Warren turned hastily away from her, and paced the 
aisle thoughtfully for a minute or two, while she watched 
him anxiously. At length he approached her, and said : 

" You shall have your wish, Nattee, I will baptize you 
now. Kneel down and say your prayers till I come back." 

At the vestry-room door he paused, for Steady, wide- 
awake and wondering, stood listening beside the fire. 
" Steady," he said, taking her by the hand, " You have 
heard what Nattee says, and I am going to baptize her 
now. You and I shall have to be her witnesses, and remem- 
ber you pray for her with all your heart." 

The first baptism in the chapel was a strange and 
solemn one. The light that little Steady held was not 
strong enough to make anything but dim and flickering 
shadows about the building ; all was shrouded in darkness, 
or at best, uncertainty, save the three figures around the 
font. The silence and reverence of the little torch-Lcairer, 



THE BUTHEBLAKDS. 411 

the abject posture of the poor penitent, the spirituality and 
purity of the young priest's face — carried the fancy back a 
thousand years and more, to the dim and dripping vaults 
of Rome, where the early Christians celebrated in solemnity 
and secrecy their holy rites. There was an actual vitality 
in the words as they fell upon the silent air ; there was a 
startling reality in every gesture, as if, indeed, a fresh soul, 
delivered from wrath, were being admitted, in the sight of 
men and angels, into the second ark, Christ's Church, 



" Therein to float 



Over the billows of this troublesome world. 
To the fair land of everlasting rest." 

m 

Familiarity and security had not brought down their faith 
to the level of their sight ; to them it was not merely the 
prescribed mode of entrance into a rehgious life, more or 
less important as an act of obedience and submission ; but 
it was the mystical washing away of sin, the regeneration 
to another life, the adoption to sonship, the title to the 
kinordom of Heaven. Believins: in their souls what easier 
Christians do but assent to with their lips, it was unto 
them according to their faith ; that which they asked 
beheving they received. 

Little Steady, in her simplicity of faith, almost looked to 
have seen the cross traced still in living light on her com- 
] anion's forehead, w^hen she raised her reverent eyes as 
Warren's voice ceased ; but Nattee's face Avas liidden in her 
hands — her wliDle attitude spoke only passionate self-abase- 
ment and repentance. 

*Kybrist's soldier till her dying day," why should she bf 



412 THE SUTHEBLAITDS. 

ftfraid ? And Steady looked wistfully up to Warren for 
triumphant assurance that the words conveyed. She found 
it on his upraised face, but chastened and subdued by 
knowledge to which she had not yet attained. It was, 
indeed, no wonder the child gazed spell-^ound and half 
awed ; the young minister stood with one hand on the stone 
edge of the font, the other lifted over the kneeling penitent. 
All the light in the dark chapel seemed to radiate from the 
folds of his white surplice, and a glory truly rested on his 
face— not the glory of ecstasy and triumph, but the glory 
of a holy confidence, and a faith that burned steadier and 
stiller for the storms that had passed over it. 

When the little sacristan had put out the light, re-covered 
the font, and replaced the books, she went back into the 
vestry-room, and found Nattee standing, downcast and 
trembling, by the outer door, and Warren talking to her 
earnestly. 

"What would another night's shelter be, Nattee? I 
could not give it to you without offence to my own con- 
science, and it could do you no possible good. Go back to 
your master, surrender yourself voluntarily to him, com- 
pelled by none ; it is the surest way to disarm him of Ins 
anger. My presence would only hurt your cause — ^it would 
seem as if I had discovered you and forced you to return. 
I know how hard it is, my poor girl ; but do not shrink 
from the first hard step in your Christian life. Remember 
baptism doth represent unto us our profession, which is to 
follow the example of our Saviour, Christ, and to be made 
like unto Him. And you are dead, I trust, to sin ; rise 
now to righteousness and strength ; mortify your evil feara 



THE 8UTHEKLANDS. 4:1b 

and your corrupt inclinings, and follow the right path, even 
if it lead you to your death. Nattee ! coward flesh and 
blood has had a brave example. Think of Him who 
counted not His life dear unto Himself, so He might servo 
you, and do not count your sufferings dear, when you are 
called upon in your turn to serve Him. Do not hesitate, 
my girl ; do not give the devil credit for a moment. He 
will assault you worse than ever, now; but remember Whose 
you are, and Whom you serve." 

" I do remember," whispered -Nattee, creeping toward 
the door. " I am going, Mr, Warren — ^I am truly going ; 
but, oh I if I could only wait till morning !" 

" Nattee ! who put that thought into your mind ? Who 
IS always coaxing us to put our duties off until to- 
morrow ?" 

The poor girl shuddered, and then giving one wistful 
look back at her instructor, raised the latchet of the door. 

" Steady will go with you," he said, as the little girl 
obeyed his gesture, and held out her hand. Nattee took it 
mechanically, and grasped it tightly, as she stepped out into 
the darkness. 

Warren's heart ached, as, with a low benediction, he 
closed the door upon them. 

"Innocence and Penitence," he murmured, "I have a 
ight to think God will protect them both." 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

"flEAVKN HOLDS THE SEQUEL." 

" I ask not why, with hills so high, 
He bounds our earthly vision : 
I ask not why, beyond the sky, 
We wait for our Elysian ; 
Nor why the stones before me lay, 
O'er which my feet are falling ; 
Nor why so narrow seems the way 
From which His voice is calling." 

Without distrusting God's providence, however, the 
remaining hours of that night were anxious and troubled 
ones to Warren. There are few men so assured and well- 
balanced as to be unaffected by the reaction that invariably 
succeeds a prompt and irrevocable decision ; the resolution 
and intrepidity that carry them beyond the turning-point 
generally desert them as soon as they have passed it, and 
leave them a prey to doubts and misgivings of the most 
tormenting kind, 

" I could have done no otherwise," thought Warren, as 
he paced the floor. " I can't think I could ever have recon- 
ciled it to my conscience, to have connived at her conceal- 
ment even for a day ; but it is a horrible thing to have sent 
her back unguarded to the cruelty of that infuriated man ; 
it is almost more than I can bear, to think what she may be 
passing through, even no w. Would it not have been better 
to have tempered my rigidity a little — to have gone mysell 
to him, and told him of her return ? But in his present 

414 . 



THE SUTHEELANDS. 4rl5 

state, notliing from me would be received — it would only 
have irritated him the more bitterly against her. To Law- 
rence I could not have sent her ; my judgment warns me, 
the less she owes to him the better ; and the intercession 
of her mistress would be worse than useless to her. Still, 
it was a hard alternative. God forgive me if there was too 
little pity in the measure that I dealt her 1" 

At the end of two hours, unable to bear the anxiety till 
morning, he resolved upon going to the house, and ascer- 
taining what her reception had been. But upon reaching itj 
he found everything in darkness and quiet — not a hght any- 
where about the place ; and reassured by its appearance of 
tranquillity, he resolved to return to the chapel for the 
remainder of the night, and not risk arousing any of the 
family by attempting to enter and to reach his own apart- 
ment. The worst was past, he had no doubt, and poor 
Nattee was ere now safe in her little room, wretched enough, 
assuredly, but through the hardest of her punishment, and 
in the way of reaching contentment and security. He 
returned to his little hermitage, and worn out by his long 
and anxious watch, he threw himself upon the lounge, and 
slejit till a late hour the following morning. 

He approached the house with a feeling of some uneasi- 
ness, not diminished by the sight of his uncle mounted on 
Grey Dirck, coming rapidly down the lane. The old man 
passed him with no token of recognition beyond an angry 
scowl ; certainly, there^ was not much encouragement for 
Nattee's cause in that vindictive face. He hurried into the 
house, and was met at the sitting-room door by Laura, pale 
and in tears. 



4:16 THE BUTHERLAND8. 

" Oh, Warren !" she whispered, " we have had such a» 
ftwful scene. I don^t dare to think about my little Steady; 
he has whipped her terribly, and locked her up in his own 
room, and gone away " 

" And Nattee ?" said Warren, quickly. 

" That is what I am going to tell you — it is all about pooi 
Nattee. It seems shahas been heard of" 

*' She has not come back V" 

" Come back ? Oh, no I but — ^Warren, what's the mat- 
ter ? Oh, I'm sure you're ill !" 

His sudden paleness had so unnerved her that she could 
with difficulty obey his entreaty to go on. 

" Come in here," he said, leading her to his room, " and 
tell me all they know about this miserable girl." 

Laura's story was but a short one : it appeared that some 
informant (Amen, probably, for he seemed at the bottom 
of all poor Nattee's troubles) had brought at daylight the 
intelligence that a strip of linsey-woolsey, evidently freshly 
torn, had been found in the vicinity of Mark's little cottage, 
and that Steady had returned home from that direction late 
in the evening, and had stolen up to bed without a word to 
any one. Steady was sent for, and a terrible interview had 
taken place. The little girl had refused to answer any ques- 
tions ; no threats had been effectual in extracting anything 
from her beyond the acknowledgment that she had gone 
over the hill to carry Mr. Warren's supper, and that she 
had come back late, and had gone straight to bed without 
stopping in the kitchen. It was impossible to call her stub- 
born, she was so manifestly terrified; sho was evidently 
braving her master's vengeance, frora nothing but the 



THE SUTHER LANDS. 4l7 

stiaightforward sense of duty- that had governed all her 

life. Ralph's rage seemed perfectly to master him; the 

child's self-control and endurance and his ungovernable 

passion formed a strange contrast, though through it all, it 

was easy to see she was half dead with terror. 

Only once, when he was beating her unmercifully, Laura 

had heafd her call out for Master Warren, begging him to 

save her, and to tell her master that it hadn't been her 

fault. This involuntary eiTor the poor little child had paid 

dearly for, however, for Ralph, roused by fresh suspicions, 

had inflicted fresh cruelties upon her to oblige her to con- 

firm them, but in vain, and at length had dragged her off 

to his own room to find what virtue there might be in the 

dark-closet system. The result, of course, Laura could only 

guess at ; her uncle^s face had expressed neither satisfaction 

nor enlightenment as he turned the key upon the little 

captive, and strode off to the barn, and Laura had little , 

doubt she had remained faithfid to her trust, whatever the 

« 

trust might be. 

Lawrence had been off an hour or more, since first he 
heard the story, hoping to be before his father in ISTattee's 
apprehension, if indeed she really were about the neighbor- 
hood. Amen's representations had led to the belief that in 
the course of the first night of her flight, she had accom- 
plished a great distance, and was, without doubt, many 
miles beyond the farm before pursuit was started. This 
idea, of course, had saved the chapel from a rigorous 
examination; though Ralph had ridden over there and 
looked into it, he had done it idly and without the smallest 
anticipation of discovering any traces of her. He had 

18* 



4:18 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

walked up and down the aisk, and had lifted the altar-cloth^ 
and looked under the altar, and poor Nattee had heard his 
heavy tread echoing upon the stones under which she lay, 
and had heard the crack of that dreadful riding-whip as he 
moimted and rode oiF. But now that her presence in the 
vicinity was so strongly suspected, the whole force of the 
investigation would be brought to bear upon so small a 
space, Warren could not help confessing, her chances of 
escape Avere less than insignificant. 

If he could but see Steady for a moment and ascertain the 
truth from her, there might be some chance of bringing the 
poor wretch again to reason, and savmg her fr^m the fate 
with which she seemed so much in love. But Warren's 
conscience, though a high church conscience, had no affinity 
to Jesuitism; doing wrongf that right might come was 
utterly at variance with its promptings. He knew too well 
his own position in the family and his duty to the head of it, 
to attempt to obtain an interview with his little protegee by 
violating his uncle's orders. Moreover, it could not be 
done without forcibly breaking into the room where she 
was confined, and setting an example of insubordination and 
violence that would do far more evil to the others, than by 
his influence with Nattee he could hope to do her good. 
Meantime, he must bear patiently the suspense and the 
anxiety, and trust that, as he could do nothing, all would 
yet work well without him. 

A long and anxious day it was, as had been its predeces- 
sors. Everything was unsettled and uncomfortable in the 
household, now that Steady too was gone, and that poor 
Mrs. Sutherland had so little heart for its direction. Salome 
could not keep her mind *upon her work, and if Laura had 



IHE 8UTHERLAND8. 419 

not tried to interest herself in the matters of the mdnage, 
it would have been at a dead stand-still. 

Toward evening Ralph returned; supper was on the 
table, but he did not even make a feint of partaking of it. 
He had evidently something of engrossing weight upon bis 
mind, some new and definite plan before him. He even 
forgot little Steady's incarceration, till timidly reminded of 
it by Laura, just as he was leaving the house. He looked 
at her a moment scowlingly, then tossed her the key and 
went out. 

Laura ran joyfully to emancipate the little captive, whom 
ghe found sitting on a bag of wool far back in a dark closet, 
with her hands folded and her face expressing its usual 
tranquillity. Her eyes blinked a little when Laura hurried 
her out into the light, and she was somewhat paler than 
ordinary ; but beyond that, she was far less moved than 
her mistress. 

" Mr. Warren wants you. Steady," said the latter, taking 
her by the hand. " Come with me to his room." 

Steady followed, and Laura responded to his permission 
to enter by opening the door, pushing Steady through it, 
and retreating. Warren^s face lighted up as he saw the 
child, and laying aside his book, he went to meet her, say- 
ing, " Wliat does all this mean that I have heard, Steady ? 
Why would not you mind your master this morning ?" 

Steady hung her head : " It wasn't my fault, Mr. Warren, 
How could I break my word to Nattee ?" 

" But how came you to pass your word to Nattee when 
you knew that she was doing wrong ?" said Warren, seating 
himself and drawing the child beside his knee 



^20 THE 8UTHERLANDS. 

"She coaxed me, Mr. Warren, and T was frightened; 
besides, I didn't know it wasn't right. She said she would 
come back by daylight — ^he said she might if she had a 
mind to." 

" Mr. Pound, you mean ?" 

Steady nodded. 

" Where did you meet Mr. Pound, Steady ?*^ 

" Right there by our old house, Mr. Warren.*^ 

" Was Nattee surprised to see him ?" 

" I don't know. She didn't want to, she tried to hide 
away from him ; but she couldn't, and he saw her, and ht 
was surprised." 

" What did he say — do you remember ?" 

" He said, ' Nattee, what does this mean ?' And he 
pointed to me, Nattee began to cry, and made me go 
away, and they talked low a long, long time, and then 
Nattee came to me and told mo she was going to let me go 
home alone to-night, but she was coming early in the 
morning; and then she made me promise solemnly I 
wouldn't tell anybody I'd seen her or knew anything about 
her. And I didn't know, and I promised." 

"I understand. Steady. You did not do anything 
wrong, you could not help it. And so you came home?" 

" Yes ; I came 'cross lots as fast as ever I could." 

" And they — which way did they go ?" 

" Along the road to Mr. Pound's, I think ; but I'm not 
sure." 

"That's enough then. Steady. You may go and get 
your supper. I think for the present you had belter keep 
your promise to Nattee, and not say aJ>ything about what 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 421 

you know to anybody. Be faithful, and I will see that you 
are not punished any further, if it is in my power." 

Warren retained his composed attitude till the little girl 
had made her courtesy, reached up to the exalted latch of 
the door, opened it and disappeared behind it; then he 
started up, turned the key upon his desk, and prepared 
himself for his walk with all possible expedition. He found 
little difficulty in avoiding observation in the dusky twi« 
light, and was beyond the creek and half way to the 
parson's house before Laura had sent up to call him down 
to supper. It was a grey, mild twilight, the weather had 
been softening through the day, but not enough to thaw 
the frozen ground, or diminish in a great degree the ice 
along the creek ; shapeless vapory clouds had obscured the 
setting of the sun, and now seemed spreading a veil over 
the whole heaven ; a veil too thin to darken it, but dense 
enough to hide the stars, though not to quench their light 
The moon was not due till nearly nine o'clock, so-that when 
Warren reached the little cabin of the preacher, the/ o was 
only a very dim and uncertain light to show him t'/at he 
had come on an unavailing errand. 

All was still about the house, and the padkok on 
the door was firmly locked. He knocked londJy, and 
asked admittance in a voice distinct enough to assure 
any one within that it was he who spoke. But no move- 
ment or response showed that he spoke to anything more 
intelligent than logs and boards, and with a heartfelt sigh 
he slowly turned away. He went home by a different route, 
hoping faintly he might encounter Pertinax, or in some way 
obtain a clue to Nattec's whereabouts. Of course, the hope 



4.22 THE SUTHEBIiANDS. 

proved a vain one, and he had no heart, as he neared the 
house, to enter it just then and bear a meeting with his 
uncle, and the angry and dangerous consequences that 
might result from it. 

To the Chapel! A few hours there before midnight 
would quiet hira, and give things at home time to quiet, 
too. There was nothing for him to do, he thought with a 
sigh, as he took his way toward it : he was deeply disap- 
pointed, but not quite disheartened — he never should give 
up hope for her till he had lost confidence in her sincerity, 
and that, notwithstanding the blackness of the case, he had 
not yet done. She was weak, she was cowardly, ignorant, 
but she was not untrue. The power which an enthusiast 
like Pertinax might gain over such a mind as hers, he easily 
saw, might be unbounded ; and that to him she owed the 
idea of flight, and the means of protection and sustenance 
during her concealment, he had no doubt. To surrender 
herself to her master, he was sure, had last night been her 
honest, though fearful resolution, when she left him, and 
she had needed all his encouragement and assurance to 
keep her up to it ; but when she was thrown, against her 
will, apj)arently, into the way of her former adviser and pro- 
tector, and was subject to his contradictory influence, it was 
natural she should be again unsettled, and that her fears 
should at last overcome her resolution. 

"If I had only gone with her myself!" he thought, with 
a groan. 

That he did not go, was the step upon which all the suc- 
ceeding trouble hinged, but he need not have held himself 
accountable for it. Its failure to benefit her was all of a 



THE BUTHEBLANDB. 423 

piece with the rest of poor N"attee's fate, that seemed to 
turn into misfortunes the good intentions and good efforts 
of those who wished her well. Her mistress' injudicious 
tenderness and indulgence, Lawrence's kindness and con- 
sideration, Pertinax's interest and compassion, had all, in 
turn, proved mischief ous and hurtful to her, and now, it 
seemed, Warren's earnest efforts to restore her to her duty 
had acted in an equally unexpected manner. But he could 
not give her up : though he was perfectly at a loss where 
to turn to do her any good, he yet felt as if some way 
would surely open, and he should see some answer to all 
the prayers he had said for her salvation. It was with 
a weary sense of disappointment and dissatisfaction that 
he shut himself into his little study, remembering the hope 
and courage with which he had left it in the morning. 

Nattee's fate had passed out of his hands, indeed, but it 
was still the care of One to whom it could not be indif- 
ferent ; and " no man may deliver his brother, nor make 
agreement unto God for him ; for it cost more to redeem 
their souls, so he must let that alone forever," but " neither 
is God unrighteous that He will forget their works and 
labor that proceedeth of love, which love they have showed 
for His name's sake." 

Prayers that are defeated of their purpose, return with 
a doubled blessing to those of whose charity they were 
born. 



CHAPTER XXVn. 



THE WISDOM OP THE CHILDREN *OF THIS WOBLD, 



" watch and pray ere morning dawn ! 
For thinner than the subtlest lawn 
'Twixt thee and death the veil i^ drawn. 

But Love too late can never glow ; 
The scattered fragments Love can glean, 
Refine the dregs and yield us clean 
To regions where one thought serene 
Breathes sweeter than whole years of sacrifice below." 

Kebli. 

" Lawrence at last !" said Laura, startiDg* up as she 
heard his welcome step upon the flags outside. The clock 
was striking nine, and his long-kept supper was waiting on 
the table. Laura had been almost crying with disappoint- 
ment and apprehension for the last long hour : 

" I thought you were never coming," she whispered, as 
he folded her in his arms, lingering a moment in the hall to 
murmur a few words that were not in answer to her saluta- 
tion, nor in reference to the subject that engrossed the 
attention and anxiety of the family ; but only concerned the 

one that had power to cover and extinguish and obliterate 

« 
0,11 others. 

Lawrence had to thank this state of apprehension and 
alarm, however, for demonstrations and confessions he 
would otherwise have been long in gaining ; but the cer- 
tainty of trouble and the possibility of danger had brought 

484 



THE BUTHERLANDB. 425 

ner quite out of herself, and she hastened to lavish unre- 
servedly upon him the love and tenderness that under other 
circumstances he would only have been able to hope for 
and imagine. As they came into the light of the doorway, 
and she glanced up into his face, she exclaimed : 

"How pale and tired you look! How long have you 
been in the saddle ?" 

" Since six o'clock,'* he said. 

"And what — what news, Lawrence?" said his mother, 
timidly and anxiously, coming forward. ^ 

" None, mother, or worse than none," he said, throwing 
himself into a chair. " I cannot get the slightest clue to 
her, nor can I find that any one else has, except my father. 
I had begun to hope that at last she was safe beyond 
the river, when, not a mile from here, I met my father, 
riding for dear life toward Kiskatom, and with a worse 
determination than I have seen since the beginning of this 
trouble, and Rube told me just now, that when he was 
rubbing down Dirck, after my father last came in, he called 
out to him not to water him, for he had been going hard, 
and that he had a good many miles before him yet ; * and 
they're the last he'll do in this business,' he added, with an 
oath. Rube, honest fellow, thinks he means to give up 
after trying this once more, but I'm afraid I know him far 
too well. He is sure of success, you may depend." 

" Oh, my poor Nattee !" groaned Mrs. Sutherland. " Is 
there no hope, Lawrence ?" 

"None, mother, that I can think of. I should have 
turned and followed him, but Bess had lost a shoe, and was 
lamed already, and he was going like the wind ; you'd have 



1:26 THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 

thought Dirck wasn't ten minutes out of the stable. And I 
find there isn't a horse that's fresh enough to do a half 
hour's work to-night ; Bess is entirely spent, and Dick and 
Dave have got all the going out of the black nags that can 
be coaxed out of them in this twenty-four hours, and the 
farm-horses, you know, have had their shoes off these two 
weeks. If my father doesn't have to pay for his cursed 
ugliness in any other way, he'll find he's damaged horse- 
flesh enough to make it a tolerably dear business." 
% " If that were all !" sighed Laura. 

"Aye, if it were," said Lawrence, passing his hand 
across his forehead. " I have had a homd presentiment ever 
since this wretched afltiir began — ^but what's the use of 
grcaning about presentiments I" he interrupted, glancing 
up cheerfully into Laura's face. " What with the things 
that do happen and the things that don't happen, we have 
our hands full enough without filling them with the things 
that we're afi:aid are going to happen." 

Laura tried to return the smile, but there seemed a speU 
upon her smiles that night. Perhaps it was the effect of 
the day's anxiety, that she was so thoroughly unnerved and 
spiritless; Lawrence whispered he should know why she 
was pining, if her cheeks kept growing paler at the rate 
they had been doing since 

But the flush that his words and glance called up faded 
quickly, and he himself had not any heart for jesting. He 
looked, indeed, very haggard and woni ; and though he 
stoutly denied that he suffered any pain from his sprained 
shoulder, it was not difficult to see, by the caution of his 
movements and the contraction of his face whcm he wac 



%. 



THE 8UTHERLAND8. 427 

obliged to stir, that it still gave him extreme discomfort, 
He made an effort to eat the supper that had been so 
carefully kept for hiiti, but it was evidently an effort, 
made only to appease the anxiety of the eyes that watched 
him. 

" There, Steady, take those things away," he cried, push* 
ing back his chair. "Tour mistress thinks I have had 
enough." 

When Steady had taken the things away, and left the 
room, Laura obeyed Lawrence's gesture, and came beside 
him to the fire. 

" Most foolish mistress !" he said, laying his hand upon 
her shoulder, and looking down in her face. " Spoiling 
your lover with pity and tenderness, when you could have 
kept him at your feet with half a smile, with half a word I 
Don't you know you are ruining him — making him insati- 
able, tyrannical" 

" I don't care what I make him," murmured Xaura. 

" Unreasonable, selfish, exacting ?" 

" He is that without my help, already," she would have 
said at any other time with a bright smile, but now she 
only murmured, yielding to his embrace : " Yes, unreason- 
able, selfish, exacting — anything — anything, so he loves me 
alwavs !" 

"Always," he repeated with a shiver as he held hei 
close within his arms. "How short our always may be, 
after all ! Laura, when a man holds that for which he would 
have died, within his grasp, that which he has swoni to 
win, for which, almost, he would have sold his hopes of 
life eternal^ — why is it that he shudders and turns faint witb 



428 THE SUrilEBLANDS. 

fear — why is it that at the very moment of his bliss, a terroi 
lest it should be short, a cowardly shrinking dread of death 
should enter — death that he never feared before — ^why 
should the worm, the clod, the shroud, all images and hor- 
rors of mortality, creep in to chill him, when life is at the 
fullest, at the best ?'^ 

Laura did not answer for a moment, then looking at hiin 
wistfully, she said : " The longest happiness here is so short, 
is it worth desiring if it goes no further ? Oh, Lawrence, 
it is no blessing if it is not fit to go on in another life !" 

" My darling ! it is the only thing in my life tliat is pure 
enough to carry with me to a better— do not take it from 
me — help me to profit by it — I hold my better hopes 
through this dear one." 

" Not through it. Oh, Lawrence, you frighten me — it is 
not right. We cannot have two paradises — we must not 
love God only through His creatures — ^He will not accept 
it, I am sure." 

He released her suddenly, and walked hastily back and 
forth across the room. " You cannot understand, you do 
not know how it has been with me," he said, as he paused. 
'' Why may not God lead us to Him even through the 
gratification of our own self-will ? Why may he not bind 
us to Him through indulgence as safely as through subjuga- 
tion ? We cannot limit Him." 

" No, only as He has limited Himself. Oh, Lawrence, 
do not say you are not willing to submit; do not resist 
Him till He breaks your will, and saves you by punishment 
at last." 

There was a pause, and Laura, frightened at her own ea^ 



THE 8UTHBBLANDB 429 

>oestDe&s tumed away from liis fixed, thoughtful look, and 
drew back from beside him, as his mother came ioto the 
room. Lawrence held her hand firmly and drew her down 
into a seat at his side, while Mrs. Sutherland sank . into a 
chair opposite to them. Looking at them and realizing 
their happiness was the only comfort she could claim just 
theUf and her anxious face softened as she watched 
them. 

"Mother," cried Larry, throwing himself back in his 
chair with «i half-weary, half-willful look, '* Laura has been 
preaching to me. I appeal to you, should a woman preach ?" 

Mrs. Sutherland smiled doubtfully, and looked remonstra- 
tive : Lawrence always frightened her with his talking. 
But though there was a good deal of the old tone in his 
manner now, there was a good deal, too, of one that was 
strange and half sad, and it perplexed her simplicity as 
much, Lawrence was not wont to let any anxiety or per- 
plexity influence him beyond its momentary pressure ; it 
was strange that he did not throw this off, now that he saw 
its hopelessness. And amid his new happiness, it was 
doubly strange to see it retain such influence. All the 
evening he seemed subdued by fits of thoughtfuhiess and 
abstraction, that were broken occasionally by flashes of the 
old spirit, but these grew fewer and fainter as it advanced, 
and at length ceased altogether, and the three sat silent, 
listening apprehensively, or talking in low, quiet tones that 
attempted uo disguise. It was impossible to go to bed : 
Lawrence once, indeed, said ; " It is folly, mother, for you 
and Laura to sit up." 

But he could not resist Laura's imploring: look and his 



430 THE SUTHESLANDS. 

mother's unhappy sigh ; " I cannot sleep, Lawrence, till na 
comes. Why should I go ?" 

The clock had struck eleven ; Lawrence had walked many 
times to the window and looked out, and had again throwD 
himself in his chair by the firesido, gazing at Laura .is if he 
hoped to find self-control and patience in her quiet eyes, 
and courage and endurance in the touch of her soft hand : 
for a few moments, nothing had been said — the ticking 
of the tall clock in the comer and the crackling of the 
fire upon the hearth had been the only sounds that had 
repaid their watchfulness — when suddenly a horse's hoofs 
clattering sharply upon the frozen ground, coming rapidly 
up the lane and pausing before the barn-door, brought Lariy 
* to his feet, and made his mother hide her eyes and tremble, 
while Laura stood motionless, petrified with apprehension. 

For several minutes they did not stir, though they heard 
nothing at the barn — then the gate swung open heavily, 
and Ralph's well-known step echoed upon the flags. Alone? 
They glanced from one to another, listening breathlessly — 
yes, be was alone. He entered the house, crossed the hall 
with a heavy tread, groped along the passage for the dooi 
of his own room, pushed it open and bolted himself in. 

Lawrence's face grew dark. What did it mean ? There 
was neither fire nor light in his father's room ; it was hia 
invariable habit to come first to the sitting-room on enter- 
ing the house, no matter at what hour of night, take 
off his boots there, and linger by the fire before he went to 
bed ; Lawrence never remembered when this rule had 
offered an exception ; there was something significant of 
trouble in this change. He took up the lantern from the 



THE 8UTHEBLANDB. 431 

ndeboard, mutteriog something about looking after Dircl^ 
and lit it at the fire. 

" My son, you can't do anything — don't go !" faltered 
his mother, following him tremblingly to the door. 

" There's nothing to do, dear mother,*' he said with an 
attempt to speak reassuredly. ' I'm only going to see if 
all's right at the stable before I go to bed." 

Laura did not wait for or ask permission, but picking up 
the cloak he had thrown down as he snatched his fur cap 
from the peg, she followed him out noiselessly but closely 
He strode down the path so rapidly he did not see her till 
she reached the gate. 

" You here, Laura !" he said, as he held it open for her ; 
but he did not tell her to go back, only took the hand she* 
slipped in his, and hurried on. He was unconscious of the 
grasp in which he held it, but it told a story of preoccupa- 
tion and dread that made Laura's heart sink. She held the 
lantern while he undid the bars of the stable-door and 
pushed aside the clumsy fastenings. There was not much 
need of the lantern while they were outside, at least. The 
night was singularly light, though there was neither moon 
nor stars in sight. The moon, however, was at its full, and 
filled the thin sheet of cloud that was spread over the 
whole heaven, not brilliantly nor luminously, but with a 
grey, spectral light ; the air was soft and mild for that late 
season ; not a breath of air stirred ; all nature, indeed, 
seemed strangely still and listening. 

When Lawrence had succeeded in withdrawing the bolts, 
the heavy double-doors fell open of themselves, and taking 
the lantern from Laura's hand without a word, he entered 



432 THE SUTHERLAND8. 

the bai-n and hurried across to Dirck's stall in the fiirthei 
corner. The brute's eyes shone like balls of fire, as he 
stood with his head stretched across his manger, stamping 
heavily upon the ground at intervals, and pulling restlessly 
at the halter round his neck. Lawrence glanced in at him 
hastily ; his head-stall had been taken off, but the saddle 
was still on, the girths not even loosened ; flakes of foam 
lay about his mouth and neck; the manger was empty; 
the hard-run horse had neither been rubbed down, fed nor 
watered. 

" Stand back, Laura ; you may hold the lantern up for 
me, if you ^vill. The men are worn out and are fast asleep. 
I must groom the brute myself." 

• He vaulted over into the stall, unfastened the halter and 
led him around through a side door upon the bam floor 
itself. Laura shrunk back timidly as the towering beast, 
letting his great hoofs down heavily on the resounding 
floor, approached her at a measured pace. 

" Are you afraid ?" said Lawrence, reaching up to a beam 
overhead for the curry-comb and pail. "Set the lantern 
down if you are. I can see so, very well." 

" No," said Laura, faintly, " I'd rather hold it." 

She came a little closer, and held the lantern up ; Larry 
stooped down to loosen the saddle ; the girths had been 
overstrained, and the buckle would not give ; he said — 

" A little closer, Laura ; I can't see," and Laura crept a 
little nearer, and held down the light to where it shone 
directly over his shoulder, and full on the muscular and 
heaving haunches of the horse. Lawrence gave a violent 
start, let go the saddle-band, and stiiking liim suddenly 



THE SUTHEBLANDS 438 

above the fetlock, seized the hoof he raised, and examined 
it hurriedly. 

"Closer, closer, Laura," he said, huskily, and Laura, 
kneeling down, held the lantern close against the hoof. 

A cold chill ran through her as she saw what made him 
drop it, pass his hand hastily over the wet fetlock and the 
spattered flank, and stagger back with such a fearful groan. 
There was blood, half dried, upon his heavy, sharp shod 
hoof, blood dripping from his shaggy fetlock, blood stain- 
ing his white flanks — a rope knotted in the crupper hung 
dangling down upon the groimd. 

Lawrence raised it for an instant — a fragment of a dark 
blue linsey-woolsey dress was drooping from it, 

" I knew it ! Oh, it is too horrible !" he muttered be-* 
tween his tight set teeth. 

" Tell me — tell me," whispered Laura, clinging in terror 
to him. 

" He has found her — somewhere away from any help — 
lashed her to this rope to lead her home — the horse has 
taken fright — she is dashed to death upon the rocks " 

For several minutes no word was spoken : Lawrence 
stood leaning against the manger, supporting himself with 
one hand, with the other mechanically grasping Dirck's 
halter, his face bloodless and rigid, and his eyes fixed on 
the ground, while Laura's head was between her hands and 
bowed down on his arm. 

At last he started, saying hoarsely : 

" I must know the worst. Go in, Laura, but do not tell 
my mother till there is a certainty. I shall soon be back." ^ 

" Oh don't, don't go, Lawrence !" cried Laura, clinging 

19 



iSi THE 8UTHEBJ.AN13S. 

to his arm, " you will not mount that dreadful brute — you 
will not be so cruel to me !" 

He hardly seemed to hear her, as he strode out of thft 
barn, leading the reluctant horse, who struggled fiercely as 
they reached the doorway, planting both feet firmly on the 
floor, and throwing back his head. 

" You will not trust yourself to him?" exclaimed Laura, 
shrinking back in terror. "Remember how weak your 
arm is yet — wait for another horse" 

" There is no other, my darling, fit to go. Do not be 
frightened — ^I am strong enough for Dirck. One kiss, and 
let me go." 

They were outside the barn now, and the horse stood 
passive for a moment, as he held Laura in his arms and 
pressed a kiss upon her lips. Even after his foot was in 
the stirrup, he turned and passed his arm around her once 
again, whispering some loving reassurance. Dirck, impa* 
tient of the tenderness, stamped restlessly and pulled 
strongly at the bridle over Larry's aim, who, after an 
instant, vaulted into the saddle and gathered up the reins. 

" Come down and open the gate for me," he said. 

Laura walked silently beside him down the road to the 
great gate that led into the lane. He reined up Dirck as 
he passed through it, and bending down from tho saddle, 
whispered, as he left another kiss upon her forehead, 

" Go in and comfort mother, Laura, and do not think of 
me. God knows " 

The broken sentence died upon his lips ; he started up, 

*and Dirck, with a quick bound, dashed from under the 

loosened rein. Laura stood gazing after the horse and 



THE SUTHEBLAllDS. 4Si> 

rider till they were lost in a winding of the lane ; then 
turned back toward the house, with a blank, cold sense of 
vacancy and desolation. The night was so still and grey, 
the light was so strange and spectral, she longed to shelter 
herself from it in the house ; but when she reached it, the 
house had gloom and dreariness as great. Her aunt met her 
at the door, pale and trembling, hardly daring to ask what 
she had learned, and what had taken Lawrence away so 
suddenly. 

'* He is afraid something has happened ; he's gone to see 
if he can learn anything," she said, pressing hei hand over 
her heart, and trying to speak quietly. 

"But, Laura — but, my child," murmured Mrs. Suther- 
land, with a wild look of alarm, " what does he think has 
happened? what is he afraid of?" 

" He cannot tell, dear mother," Laura said, putting her 
arms around her. " He said you must not be alarmed, he 
would soon be back. You know it was not strange he 
should want to go and ascertain himself, if possible." 

Laura's white face belied her reassuring words ; all life 
and strength seemed to have gone out of her limbs, and 
she caught hold of the nearest chair to keep herself from 
falling. 

"I've walked so fast up from the gate, I am a little 
faint," she faltered as she met her companion's frightened 
eyes. " I want to unfasten this, it is so heavy." 

But it was not the cloak that oppressed her, though she 
breathed freer as it fell back. Poor Laura I The words 
" Go in and comfort mother," were ringing in her ears, 
but her heart seemed la stone within her, soul and body 



4:36 THE SnTHERLA^NDS. 

both had fainted under the heavy pressure that had &llen on 
them — how could she rouse them up to keep her promise- 
to fulfill her lover's parting charge ? 

Love is a stirring stimulant, a powerful master over 
souls and bodies both ; in dye minutes Laura was quiet, 
controlled, and thoughtful, watching tenderly over her 
confused and agitated companion, soothing her distress, rea- 
soning away her fears. 

" Dear aunt,'' she said, taking the poor lady's hand, as 
she seated herself on a low stool at her feet, " dear aunt, do 
not give way to such alarm — think how it would distress 
Larry. He will so soon be back we can afford to be com- ' 
posed at least till we hear whether he has bad news or no." 

But it was a dearly bought composure; every minute 
seemed to Laura like an age of suffering ; her words oi 
comfort sounded in her own ears like a horrible hypocrisy, 
listening, as she was at the same time, for what her heart 
told her would belie them. She did not dare to stir away 
from her aunt's side, nor relinquish for a moment the 
fluttering hand she held, though a wild impatience throbbed 
in every nerve, and a restless fire seemed burning against 
hor brain. It would have been such immeasurable relief to 
have walked the floor, to have started to the window at 
the distantest indication of a sound, to have pressed her 
hands against her temples to still their dreadful aching ; it 
might not have done away with her distress, but at least 
it would not have chained it up so tightly, and made it 
press itself so frantically against every vein and nerve. 
Actual bodily pain resulted from the control she put upon 
herself; every limb ached as acutely as if she had been 



THB SUTHESLAND8. 437 

chained to that one spot by tangible and real fetters. 
Sometimes it seemed to her she could not bear the con- 
straint another instant, and she found herself going on, 
speaking quietly, looking calmly, under her aunt's fixed, 
wistful eyes ; every minute of her own endurance was a 
fresh surprise to her, but every minute was more racking 
than the last. 

" Hark !" whispered Mrs. Sutherland, at last, in a tone 
that made Laura shiver: but Laura had heard, long before 
she spoke — long, that is, as those dire seconds counted. 

Far off down the road, miles away, it seemed to her, she 
had heard the rapid running gallop of a horsc) : nearer and 
nearer, now softer over the turfy roadside, now louder on 
the frozen ground, now clattering across the rocks — ^nearer 
and nearer, but the women never stirred; grasping each 
other's hands, and staring blankly in each other's pallid 
£ices, they sat as if spell-bound by the sound. 

Even when it grew so near they could count every stroke 
of the rapid hoofs upon the ground, they did not breathe or 
turn or change a feature. The flying steed rushed home- 
ward at a fearful pace — the whole still night seemed re- 
sounding with the thunder of his hoofs, as he came tearing 
down the lane, through the open gateway, along the flags, 
up — up to the very door. Why did not Laura fly to meet 
her lover ? Why did not the mother hurry to her son's 
embrace ? The one crouched speeoliless at the other's feet, 
locked in a close embrace of terror. 

There was no soimd without for the space of a whole 
minute, save the restless trampling of the heavy-limbed 
beast before the door. Laura lifted her head, and rose 



438 THE SUTUEBLA.ND8. 

shuddering from her kiiees, releasing herself slowly from 
the vice-like grasp of her companion's bands, then crept 
feaifully toward the door, and out into the black, still hall. 
She groped her way bewildered through it ; her hand struck 
on the great iron bolt that secured the entrance, half uncon- 
sciously she mastered it, turned the key with both trembling 
hands, and pulled it open. 

There, ghost-like in the grey light, half a rod from her, 
stood the riderless steed. Her eye fell on the empty saddle 
— she made one step forward and stretched out her hands, 
then clasped them to her forehead and shrunk back. There 
was a heavy fall beside her, and a low groan ; she started, 
and bent down and whispered, " Mother !" 

She raised the poor stricken head upon her knee, and 
chafed the lifeless hands, and called upon her beseechingly 
to look up at her and to speak. But when at last she did 
look up, and lifted her slow eyes, the light of reason had 
set in them forever: the last scorching bolt had driven 
everything before it — ^memory, anticipation, pain — and had 
left only vacancy and oblivion in her desolated mind. 



CHAFIER XXVm. 

FIVE TEARS AFTER. 

To walk through sun-bright places 

With heart all cold the while ; 
To look in smiling faces 

When we no more can smile ; 

" To feel, while earth and heaven 
Around thee shine with bliss, 
To thee no light is given — 
Oh, what a doom is this !" 

Moore. 

It was late iu the afternoon of a fine June day ; the 
setting sun wks shining down the walks of a large, well 
ordered garden in the suburbs of New York ; early flowers 
were open in the beds ; the hedge was sweet with lilacs, and 
ceringos, and honeysuckles, and over the summer-house, 
that stood half way between the mansion and the river, a 
June rose climbed luxuriantly, and was just blushing mto 
bloom. 

The garden, however, presented anything but a picture 
of still life at that moment. Five children, three of the sex 
that bullies and throws stones, and two of the one that 
pouts and pulls hair, tore up and down the paths, and in 
and out of the summer-house, yelling, and whooping, and 
laughing, and fighting, as only childhood can. If anything 
else could, this planet would be an undesirable residence. 
Providentially, the young of the human species wear out 

48» 



440 -THE bUTHEBLANDS. 

their sj^irits and their enthusiasm inside of the fifbt score 
of their allotted three, and give their elders a chance to get 
to their graves in peace. Fancy untold millions of people 
i*omping, and tearing, and hallooing through life in school- 
boy earnest ; the earth would be complained of as a nuisance 
in the planetary system. 

The two ladies who sat in the summer-house groaned as 
the five emancipated young savages burst out from the 
house and spread themselves over thQ garden. The younger 
and prettier of the two threw do^vn the volume of "Eve- 
lina" she held, exclaiming, "There's an end to reading 
aloud I" while her companion gave a discontented glance 
toward them, and said, " If their father only had a little 
authority over them I" 

The young lady's face, and the slight shrug she gave, 
seemed to indicate that she thought mothers were not 
entirely devoid of responsibility in the matter of authority, 
but she did not say anything. 

The matron, meanwhile, laid down her work and tunied 
toward the intruders with a feeble remonstrance, which was 
met by a mauling embrace from the two girls, who wanted 
permission to do something unheard of, and by a wild 
Indian yell from the three boys, who were already in a 
rough-and-tumble fight. 

" Give us the key of the boat-house, mamma — give us the 
key," coaxed Christy, hanging around the wretched lady's 
neck. 

" Yes, mamma — yes, you must," cried the younger girl, 
thumping heavily on her knee to insure her entire atten- 
tion. 



THE 8UTHERLANDS. 44:1 

''No, don't you, mamma," shouted Rowly, picking him* 
self up out of the dust. " Don't you let 'em go. I won't 
have 'em. I'm going to row myself. I won't have any 
girls along, I won't." 

"Mamma, shan't he?" shrieked the girls in concert, 
while Rowly, turning a sommersault out into the path, 
vowed he'd break the boat-house open if he couldn't get the 
key, and started off to put his threat in execution, with the 
two younger boys close at his heels, whereupon the two 
girls gave chase, rending the air with their shrill shrieks, 
and tearing pell-mell, helter-skelter, head-over-heels down 
the path. About half way to the river, however, Rowly's 
foot slipped, and he fell sprawling over a promising bed of 
hyacinths and tulips, and his pursuers, too close and too 
violent to arres^ themselves in time, stumbled over the 
prostrate hero, and fell promiscuously, involved in a com- 
mon ruin. Mrs. Templeton, at the dire sight, hid her eyes 
and groaned, but sat still, while Miss Birket, the pretty 
niece, exclaimed it served them right, and she hoped sin- 
cerely they were hurt. 

At this critical juncture, there emerged from the house 
a tall, pale girl, with a very wearied look and a listless step, 
holding in her hand a book and garden hat, and drinking 
m a thirsty "breath of the fresh air, as if it were the first she 
had had all day. 

" There 1" cried the young lady, in a tone of relief, as she 
caught sight of the new comer. " Do let her take them oft 
for a walk or something. She's the only one that can keep 
them quiet." 

The approach of the goveniess seemed to remove a groat 

19* 



442 THE SUrEERLANDS. 

weight from the mother's mind. She looked up very much 
relieved, and said peevishly, as she came toward them: 

" Do see what is the matter with those children, I beg. 
You may take them down to the water for an hour before 
tea-time, if you can keep them within sight of you. Don't 
let Rowly get into the boat-house, though, on any account, 
and be sure you bring them in before dark." 

The governess paused a moment before the door of the 
summer-house, and opened her lips as if to speak, then 
turned her head away, and moved quietly down the path. 
Her approach seemed to have a composing effect upon the 
struggling heap of little humans : she picked up one, brushed 
the dust from the apron of another, and spoke with quiet 
authority to a third. All clamored their defences and com- 
plaints, and clustered about her skirts with incoherent 
declarations and accusations, but it was very evident they 
acknowledged her supremacy, and yielded her the best 
obedience they were able. 

In the calm that succeeded their retreat. Miss Birket 
said, thoughtfully, looking after them : 

"Do you know. Aunt Rache, I should not wonder ii*you 
had trouble with that young woman sometime. I think 
she has a temper." 

A disinterested observer might have suggested Miss 
Birket had a right to know temper when she saw it, if any- 
body had. She was very fair and feminine looking, rather 
undersized, and by no means unattractive ; but there was 
more willfulness than merriment hid under her pretty 
dimples, and a very domineering spirit shone at times from 
her blue eyes. In a word, if she had been a shade leas 



THE 8UTHEBLANDS. 443 

pretty, she would have been detestable ; but her youth, her ^ 
fairness, her piquancy, saved her from termagancy, and 
rendered palatable her prononcie manners, her dashing 
freedom, and her startling willfulness. Few women liked 
her, and the ascendency she had gained over her aunt was 
owing more to the superiority of her mind than to the 
amiability of her household manners. Mrs. Templeton had 
assumed the charge of the young orphan rather unwillingly, 
but the idea of a companion in her exile from England, and 
one who was young and pretty, and beau-mondeish, recon- 
ciled her to the demands of sisterly affection, and the 
spoiled Fanny had to accept the favor of her protection, 
and affect gratitude for it, when she was inwardly rebelling 
against the fate it consigned her to. The best years of 
her life, that is, of her beauty, wasted in colonial society — 
the very prime and hey-day of her youth spent in the 
suburbs of a dull town like this! Her whole soul re- 
volted, and a growing discontent sharpened every tone, 
and hurried every movement. 

To be sure, the best society the place afforded met at 
Colonel Templeton's house, and in those anti-republican 
days, the society of New York considered itself very good 
indeed. The most intelligent men of the new country, and 
the favored emissaries from the old, breathed together the 
mvigorating air of the new metropolis, and met on common 
gi'ound — the one refined and polished by contact with con- 
ventionalities, the other enlarged and elevated by commu- 
nion with free mind. Colonel Templeton, though by no 
means a shining light in this sphere, was sufficiently well 
placed and well-informed to keep a tolerable position in it 



444 THE lUTHEBLANDB. 

He had received the order to sail for America with rather a 
bad grace, beicg a quiet third-rate man, and hating great 
changes with all the heart he had. He had had the misfor- 
tune to marry an heiress, who was at once ugly and of good 
family. It was a fearful combination of circamstances ; if 
she had been only rich, he could have equalized matters by 
talking up his family ; or if she had been simply well-born, 
he could have weighed his purse against her claims, and 
made her feel its material advantage ; but being before him 
in both these points, and being just acute enough to know 
it, the lady allowed no occasion to pass unimproved, but 
taunted him unceasingly with them. She had not force 
nor intelligence enough to make her attacks very telling; 
she only kept up a sort of guerrilla warfiire that was 
exceedingly exasperating and wearing, but which could 
have been put down almost immediately by a prompt and 
decided hand. The unfortunate Colonel, however, did not 
wield a prompt and decided hand ; he had some pomposity 
of manner and a slowness of speech that imposed upon the 
multitude, but not upon his family : from Christy up, they 
all knew they could ride over him without the slightest 
difficulty, if they made up their minds to do it. 

Miss Birket was not slow to find out what a narrow muid 
her aunt had, and what a fumbling uncertain will her 
uncle's was, and that she might rule the household if she 
chose, and she did choose, it may be well imagined. The 
ehildren she did not attempt often to coerce, but merely 
used her influence to banish them as much as possible from 
the company of their elders, and to keep them out of her 
way entirely. From the governess she had anticipated 



THE SUTHERLANDB. 445 

trouble; but, strange to say, the poor young woman had 
not yet revolted from the abominable tyranny that tied her, 
for fourteen hours of the twenty-four, to those wild colts ; 
she had no moment of daylight to herself — a more wearing 
life of bondage it would be difficult to imagine ; but she 
seemed swoni to submission, chained voluntarily to endur- 
ance. Miss Birket saw at a glance the governess was quite 
her match in will and spirit, and though the governess 
chose to put them both to school, and curb them into mute 
subjection, she never felt entirely safe. 

" I advise you to keep your eye on her, Aunt Rache," 
she reiterated, musingly, as she watched the commanding 
figure of the young woman moving slowly down the path. 
" I wouldn't trust her too far. There is something about 
her eyes I do not like. She is deep — I am sure she is. My 
uncle is rather soft about her, she's so good-looking, and 
would have you let her come into the drawing-room, and 
H^ike us treat her like one of the family ; but if you take 
my advice, you won't allow anything of the kind. If she 
once got a foothold, you would never be able to get her 
back. She is very determined, I am sure, and would soon 
be utterly unbearable." 

Mrs. Templeton, who was very jealous of her husband, as 
Fanny well knew, started a little at the allusion to Colonel 
Tempi eton's soft-heartedness about the governess' good 
looks, and said sharply, she did not believe Colonel Temple- 
ton remembered there was such a person in the house, 
except at breakfast-time, and hardly then, aftet he had 
helped her to omelette, and sent her a chop. 

" Dear aunt !" cried Fanny, laughing, " I don't moau to 



446 THE SUTHBBLXNDS. 

say he's in love with the creature, only he notices her and 
thinks she's handsome, and feels as if we women were a 
little hard on her. Don't you remember how unusually 
animated he was when we were talking of going down to 
the seaside last week for a couple of days without her? 
And how he ordered you, absolutely ordered you, to ask 
her to come downstairs, on the birthday night ? And she 
knows who to go to very well when she wants any favor. 
I must confess it provoked me a little, at Christmas, to see 
her walk straight past you in the hall and go into my imcle'8 
study to ask him for two extra days for the children. As 
if the lady of the house were not the proper one to regulate 
those things I But she knew where to look for indulgence !" 

Mrs. Templeton grew as black as a thunder-cloud, and 
twitched at her work nervously, while Fanny, with great 
unconcern and sweetness, picked up her book and turned 
over the leaves to find her place. 

" You are very much mistaken, if you think your uncle'is 
indulgent to — to such persons from anything but absent- 
mindedness and indifference," she said, tartly, after a 
pause. 

" Oh, of course, I know that !" answered Fanny, pleased 
to see her shaft had taken such effect, and willing to smooth 
It over as much as she could, without drawing it out. " Of 
course ; but then, you know, it is vexing to think she may 
presume upon it, and get his sympathy, and all that. Gen- 
tlemen are flattered by being appealed to, you see, and my 
uncle is so kind-hearted. All I want to urge upon you is, 
to keep her in her proper place — the school-room. And 
that absurd idea of my uncle's, of having the older children 



THE 8UTH£»LANDS. 447 

como to the breakfast-table — ^it has always proroked me. 
Of course, it involves having her, too ; but if they took all 
their meals upstairs, it would be perfectly natural she should 
stay with them. At home, you never would have dreamed 
of having a troop of children and a governess in the dining- 
room at breakfast, any more than you would have had them 
there at dinner ; it's only being in this outlandish place that 
makes things so out of joint." 

"I have been resolved upon that change for a month 
past," said Mrs. Templeton, with energy. " It annoys me 
exceedingly to have the racket of the children at breakfast, 
and I mean they shall take all their meals upstairs, particu- 
larly when we have company. If that young Mr. Suther- 
land had come yesterday, as we somewhat expected, I 
should have had their breakfast served by themselves this 
morning." 

"Do you think it possible for him to come to-day?" 
Fanny asked, well satisfied with the result of her diplomacy 
thus far. 

" Very possible," her aunt said, looking at her watch. " I 
should not be surprised if he arrived before tea-time." 

" Then I had better go and dress," Fanny said, glancing 
down at her frock. " I forgot the young Croesus when I 
put on this muslin." 

" I do not believe you need take much trouble," Mrs. 
Templeton said, ill-humoredly, being quite out of temper 
with everybody. " I don't believe he's such a Croesus as 
they say, or he would not stay in this country. He'd go 
home to England and live like a gentleman." 

"He's Quixotic, my uncle says, wtiioh is very bad, I 



4:48 THE 8UTHEBLAKDS. 

grant ; but one might cure him of that, you know. And he 
must be rich, or people would never treat him with so much 
respect, and talk so much about him. And my uncle says 
his estate at home is one of the finest he ever saw, and is 
steadily increasing in value ; and he ought to know, Pm 
sure, being one of the executors. Oh, I'm not afraid he 
isn't rich — I'm only afraid he is a horror, and can't be 
swallowed, even through a golden tube.** 

At this moment a servant approached from the house 
with a card. Fanny met him at the summer-house door, 
and reading it hastily, cried : 

"He's here, Aunt Rache; do you go ii^o the draw- 
ing-room — you look plenty well — and I'll hurry up and 
dress." 

" But I don't look well enough," remonstrated the aunt, 
looking at her rumpled dress and mauled cap-strings. ** The 
children have torn me all to pieces." 

" Nonsense !" cried Fanny, straightening her cap, and 
smoothing down her hair. " Nonsense ! you look perfectly 
well — as nice as possible. Do go directly in." 

And almost pushing her toward the house, she succeeded 
in having her own way — making a victim of her relative, 
and gaining plenty of time for her own toilette. 

It was almost twilight when the governess returned from 
the river-side with her restless charge. She held two of 
them firmly by the hand, as she entered the hall, but the 
surplus, for whom she had no hand, rushed wildly beforo 
her, whooping and yelling, without the least regard to the 
threatening gestures of the servant, who impressively whis- 
pered there was company within. 




THE SUTHE&LANDS. 449 

" Company!" shouted Rowly, " who cares f )r company! 
Lot's go see what kind of company it is." 

Very torn and muddy and blowsy, looking much more 
like a coalheaver's boy than an English gentleman's son, 
Master Rowly bolted mto the parlor, followed at a little 
distance by his younger brother Harry, with his hat over 
his eyes, and his hands in his pockets. Mrs. Templeton half 
rose, with an agonized gesture ; Colonel Templeton sat still, 
as if too much stunned to speak, while Miss Fanny, sitting 
by the " company," in the window seat, was the first to 
break the silence with a ringing, merry laugh. 

" Well, Rowly I you are a beauty, no one can deny." 

" No," cried Rowly with spirit, advancing nearer, " it's 
you that's a beauty — ain't she now ?" he continued, entirely 
unabashed, looking at the visitor. 

The young gentleman laughed and blushed a very little, 
and Fanny laughed and blushed a good deal. The young 
gentleman said his young friend had taste and judgment 
beyond his years, and bis young friend felt from that mo- 
ment that they were one in soul, and immediately appro- 
priated the vacant seat at his side and began to play with 
his watch-chain. No remonstrances could induce him to 
budge. 

"You don't want me to go, do you?" he demanded, 
looking up with the clearest, truest blue eye into the gentle- 
man's face. 

" No," said the gentleman very decidedly and honestly, 
feeling, perhaps, that that eye was the most reliable thing 
he had looked into since he entered the house. 

*• There, you hear, now," he exclaimed, looking triompb 



450 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

antly around upon the femily ; " and I'm going to take lea 
downstairs with him. You needn't shake your head at 
me, Fanny Birket ; I'm going to stay." 

" Mamma '11 let you, I know she will — just this once," 
said Fanny, with artless sweetness. " Please let him take 
tea downstairs to-night." 

" Well," said his mother, miserably, " yes, perhaps, if, 
he'll go up and be washed immediately." 

" No," replied the boy stoutly, " that's just what I wont 
do. I know I won't be let down again. iDon't I remem^ 
ber the dinner party ! how Fanny coaxed I might be left 
while the people were by, and then sent Margaret up to 
lock mo into the nursery while I was washing myself ?" 

" Why, Rowly I" exclaimed Fanny, with well-feigned 
perplexity, " what are you talking about ?" 

" Oh, you know what I'm talking about," he cried, put- 
ting down his head and looking very ugly at her ; *' and 
you ar'n't going to get me off again," 

*' My son," said Col. Templeton with feeble pomp, " my 
son, you are troublesome. Get down from Mr. Sutherland's 
lap, and try to be a gentleman." 

" Well, I am a trying," said the boy, getting down ; '^but 
I won't go upstairs." 

As no one but the governess had ever made any progress 
in subjugating Rowly, stratagem was always resorted to 
when it became necessary to manage him, and in conse- 
quence he had grown very sharp, and was always on the 
ookout for it. Harry was comparatively an easy subject, 
always bellowing like a young bull calf at any measures of 
opposition, but generally giving in to them at last, without 



THE SUTHERLANDS. 4:51 

"Vigorous resistance. So, at this time, when his father 
ordered Jum away, and his mdlher fretfully seconded the 
edict, he howled and kicked awhile, but at last submitted to 
be led away by John, and comparative peace was restored. 
Rowly had a pacific and honorable tea, holding fast to Mi\ 
Sutherland's hand when Fanny waved him to the lower end 
of the table. Now it was an invariable custom of Rowly's 
to answer any such dumb show out in very plain language, 
and Fanny ought to have known better. He scowled at 
her again, and said with great distinctness : 

" No ; I won't go down there. You can sit that side of 
him, if you want to, but I'm a-going to sit here." 

Pretty Fanny Birket ! How she could have ground her 
teeth if it wouldn't have interfered with her dimples ! How 
her slim fingers ached to be about the boy's ears, and how 
the boy's ears would have caught it if she could have got 
him by himself I But Rowly didn't mean she should get him 
by himself, he was a great deal too wise for that ; so, shortly 
after the evening meal was completed and they had 
returned to the drawing-room, he anticipated his father's 
invitation, and announced his intention of going to bed. 

"That's right, Rowly," said his father, very much re- 
lieved. 

" Well, that's what I meant it to be," he returned, going 
up to kiss his mother. He bestowed the same compliment 
upon his father, and then walked over to his new friend, 
and holding up his face to his, said, " I'm going to kiss you 
good-night before I go." 

Mr. Sutherland kissed him very seriously, quite princi- 
pled against encouraging him in his brusqueness, but enjoy. 



462 THE STTHEBLANDS. 

ing it very much, neveitheless. Fanny held out her hand 
as he passed her, but he walked out of the way of it, and 
said determinedly, " No, I don't want to." He saw she 
bit her lip as he looked back at her from the door, and it 
afforded him so much innocent gratification that he turned a 
somersault across the hall, and rushed up the stairs like ^ 
advance of cavalry, and burst into the school-room with an 
Indian war-whoop. 

" You hateful, noisy boy !" cried Christy, spitefully, slap- 
ping at him as he sprang into the circle round the governess' 
knee. 

" I'll knock you down if you don't keep off," growled 
Harry, who had been bursting with envy ever since he had 
been upstairs. 

" Make the boys stop fighting," fretted little Hetty, with 
an odious whine, " and go on with the story, or I'll cry," 

The school-room was a great blank apartment, with five 
desks and a black-board at one end, and some chairs and a 
table at the other. The governess sat by the west window, 
which was open, and the children sat around her feet, Hetty 
leaning on her lap, and the others pressing as near to her as 
she would allow. Rowly made an attempt to insinuate 
himself into the circle, but was driven back amid a storm 
of protestations. For some reason, she of the ferule did 
not seem disposed to exert her authority to restore order, 
but leaned her head back wearily against the window, and 
looked thoughtfully out. 

" Shall Rowly have my stool ?" 

" Mayn't he keep off?" 

" Ought he to hear my story ?" 



THE BUTHIRLANDS. 458 

" Won't you speak to him ?" 

''Look how he's kicking me!" rose in wild clamor round 
her, before she turned her eyes toward them, or seemed to 
understand their accusations. 

" Well,* cried Rowly, springing on the table and thump- 
ing a tattoo upon it with a couple of books, "if I can't hear 
the story, you shan't either !" 

The hubbub that arose on this was deafening ; the young 
lady exclaimed, " Don't, children, you torture me !" in a 
manner very different from her ordinary firm command ; 
*' Rowly, I did not expect this from you. It is not kind." 

" Well, now, look here," said the boy, very penitent, get- 
ting down from the table, " what's the use of saying so to 
mo ? You know I didn't mean it." 

Her unusual tone had quite melted him ; she had not 
worn out entreaty by frequent use, so it availed her when 
she took it up from necessity. He said, " Hold your tongues, 
children," and stamped about in great earnest to get them 
quiet. 

*' They will not be that till you set them the example," 
she said, loaning her head down on her hands upon the 
table. 

" I don't know how," said Rowly, dismally and candidly. 
In truth, there was nothing he knew less about. But his 
dismay at the sight of his best friend's attitude of dejection 
inspired him with something like good manners ; he con* 
trolled his desire to kick Harry for his insubordination, and 
throttle Christy for her continued racket, and called out in 
conciliatory tones : 

" Come, now, if you'll hush. I won't fight you any more* 



454 THE SUTHEB LANDS. 

Yon let her alone, Christy, and don't make her head a&hc 
any worse; or PU tell papa about you. Hetty, let go her 
frock ; here, take hold of my hand. Now^ if you'll all come 
and sit down and be quiet, I'll tell you about the com« 
pany." 

" Who cares for your company ? Zsaw him," muttered 
Harry. 

" Tell me," cried Christy, with very sharp feminine curi- 
osity, " what's his name, and how long is he going to stay? 
Is he nice, and does Fanny like him ?" 

" Fanny like him ? Why, of course she does. Every, 
body likes him, and he's nicer than Major Titherly, or any 
of the gentlemen that come to see Fanny. He let me sil 
by him all the time ; and I shouldn't wonder if I made him 
a present of my map of India before he went away." 

" Whew !" whistled Harry, for he did not in the least 
believe it. Rowly's map of India, for which he had 
received a prize at Christmas, and no end of praise, was the 
very apple of his eye. 

" You be quiet, will you ?" he said sternly to Harry over 
his shoulder. 

" But what does he look like ?" questioned Christy, per- 
severingly. " Is he handsome and tall ?" 

" I don't know about his being tall, I didn't think any- 
thing about it, I'll look next time I see hira. And he isn't 
handsome, like other people — he hasn't got any beard at 
all ; he doesn't look like a boy, for all that — he looks as if. 
he knew a great deal more than papa." 

" I don't see why Fanny should like him so, if he isn't 
handsome, though," Christy said, thoughtfully. 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 455 

"Did I say he wasn't handsome?" retorted Rowly, 
sharply. " Isn't she a little fool — just hear her," he con- 
tinued, appealing to the governess, who had risen, and was 
standing by the window, leaning her face against the pane 
and looking out. " Didn't I say he was handsome, but not 
like other people? I'll tell you what he looks like — ^he 
looks like tha; picture of St. John you made me for my 
prayer-book — he looks just like it — ^I wish he was related to 
me 1" he added, with energy. 

" Well," said Christy, " perhaps he will be one of these 
days. Perhaps he'll marry Fanny." 

"He shan't!" Rowly snapped at first, then seemed to 
think better of it. " He'd be my first cousin if he did, 
wouldn't he ? And live here perhaps. Well, I don't know 
whether I'd mind. And he likes Fanny, I know. He talks 
to her more'n to anybody else, and she's so monstrous 
sweet to him! Ah!" he cried, deprecatingly, as the 
young lady turned round sharply, and touched the little 
bell upon the table. "Why need we have prayers yet? 
We am't sleepy, one of us, and I've got so much to 
tell 'em !" 

" It is past the hour already," she said, and there was no 
further remonstrance, for they had learned to respect that 
beU, if nothing else on earth* 



CHAPTER XXTX. 

THX WISDOM OF THB CHILDBEN OF UG:HT. 

** HI that He blesses is our good 

And unblest good is ill ; 

And all is right that seems most wrong, 

If it be His sweet will." 

Faber. 

The children's breakfast was served upstairs the morning 
following, and so it was the next day, and the next ; the 
line of demarcation was drawn stronger than ever between 
seniors and juniors, no one but Rowly daring ever to break 
through it, and even he would not have been allowed to 
succeed in his attempts, if it had not happened that he had 
the favor and encouragement of the visitor, who had 
evidently taken a fancy to the rough little rebel, and liked 
to have him by him. And as Mr. Sutherland was a guest 
to be deferred to, Mr. Sutherland had but to say the word, 
and Rowly's sentence was remitted, and he was allowed to 
bask in the smiles of the drawing-room. Fanny boro it 
with a very sweet grace, as she always bore inevitable 
things before people. She anathematized him in her heart, 
but spared no pains to conciliate and win him. It was a 
very necessary step, for Rowly had such an unpleasant way 
of saying out whatever he thought, it was highly desirablo 
his thoughts should be complimentary ones. Children are 
considere<i )7roof against insincere cajoling; but in this 



THE SUTUEBLANDB. 457 

case, Rowly's honest instincts seemed temporarily hood* 
winked : he showed himself, alas ! not incorruptible ; he 
was young, but he had his price, if paid down punctually, 
in burnt almonds and lollipop. He began to assume grand- 
seigneur manners in the school-room, and to resist, a little 
ostentatiously, the authority of his teacher ; he was too big 
to have to mind like Christy and Jack — ^Fanny said he was ; 
Fanny said he shouldn't have to stay much longer with the 
girls ; she promised she would coax mamma to send him 
away to boarding-school, and then wouldn't he make 'em al] 
stand round when he came back at holidays I 

The poor governess felt as if all the world had turned 
against her, now Rowly had gone over to .the enemy. 
There was more in him that was tolerable than in any of 
the others; Christy was frivolous and Harry was sulky, 
Hetty was peevish and Jack was commonplace, and all 
were a little underhand and skulking, owing to the miscel- 
laneous and uncertain training they had had before they 
had fallen into her hands. All but Rowly, who was truth 
and stubbornness itself. No one had ever guessed he had 
an affectionate heart, till his governess guessed at it, and 
was repaid for her large faith by a most loyal devotion and 
a very robust championship. How much this had touched 
her, and how dear the young Troublesome had been to her, 
she did not realize, tiU she began to see there was danger 
he would be alienated from her. 

"My last friend!" she thought, with a half bitter, half 
sad smile, as Fanny had put her head in at the door, and 
told him to go dress himself he was to go with her and Mr, 
Sutherland to drive, and Rowly, with a shout, had slanused 

20 



458 THE BUTHEBLANDS 

down his desk and dashed after her, without asking leave or 
license of his preceptress. " My last friend ; but it is all 
right — ^I should have known better." 

How long the days seemed to the governess about those 
times, and how dull ! The music from the drawing-room, 
the distant sounds of laughing and talking, only made the 
achool-room dismaller and wearier. There had been less 
difficulty than was anticipated in suppressing the governess ; 
Fanny began to think she might have saved herself the 
trouble, she would have suppressed herself. A morbid 
dread of meeting strangers seemed to haunt her, and the 
house was full of strangers now. Not one of them, proba- 
bly, howevfer, had ever caught a glimpse of her, or heard 
her name or thought of her existence there; she need 
not have shrunk within her prison so fearfully; they all 
seemed busy with themselves, and selfishness is marvellously 
blind. 

It was on one soft evemng, however, just about a week 
after the arrival of Mr. Sutherland and the guests who had 
followed him, that, seduced by the quiet of the house into a 
belief that it was vacant, she resolved upon a half hour in 
the garden by herself. It was the day of the governor's 
^fUe^ the event of the season, and it was no wonder the 
house was quiet. Fanny bad flashed into the school-room 
late in the afternoon, in a ravishing toilette, to deliver a 
message from her aunt, and to see if Rowly was ready and 
he younger children, gaping through the blinds, had seen 
the carriage drive away, and had howled with discontent. 
It was the night of their weekly bath, however, and on 
such occasions, they were delivered over to the nurses an 



THE SUTHESLAKDS. 459 

hour earlier than usual, and the governess had a holiday. 
Sh« had a very odd, emancipated, self-indulgent feeling as 
she crossed the hall and stepped out on the balcony. The 
sudden quiet was almost as startling as when, midway on 
the ocean, the wearying sounds of a great steamer's 
machinery abruptly ceases ; the shock is greater than a clap 
of thunder, 

Tlie young lady hardly felt as if she were in her right 
mind or her right body, walking through the silent hall, or 
descending into the tranqu^, pleasant garden, without any 
children hanging on her skirts, or any sharp eyes following 
her steps. For the past week she had kept so nervously 
out of sight and in the school-room, she could hardly realize 
she was safe even in. this solitude. With a most weary 
gesture she pressed her hand against her brow as she 
moved down the path : the cool air did not revive her, even 
fresh as it came from the river ; she paused a moment at 

• 

the door of the summer-house, then sank down languidly 
upon the seat beside it, and leaned her cheek against the 
lattice. How soft and cool the breeze was in her face; 
how placid the river looked, gleaming through the trees ; 
how calm and quiet the evening sky bent over her. But it 
seemed to her, her heart was dead. They might as well 
have been shining on her grave. 

The summer-house was an oblong building, with a table 
running through the centre and seats at both ends. The 
faint, dusky light, and perhaps her preoccupation, had 
prevented the young lady from seeing she was not alone in 
it. Some one arose as she entered, and making a hurried 
^tep forward, stopped and gazed steadily at her. Her fece 



460 THB BUTHESLAKD8. 

was ^ery clearly visible, lying wearily back against the dark 
vine-covered lattice, and with the light from the door upon 
it ; it seemed to convey some startling story to the stranger, 
for patting his hand to his forehead as if in pain, he mur- 
mured something half inaudible and leaned against the 
lattice for support. The governess started up and turned 
toward him; their eyes met for one long moment, then 
Warren sank down on the seat, and bowed his head in his 
hands upon the table. There was an unbroken silence for 
some minutes; at last she said, speaking low, but not 
moving from where she stood : 

*' I thought you were away ; I did not mean you should 
have seen me.'» 

He did not move or raise his head, and she went on after 
a moment, a little more quickly and huskily : 

" I am sure you cannot blame me — no one can. I meant 
you never should have known that I was in the house. 
I have not left the school-room all this week. You cannot 
doubt" 

The river breaking with a low murmur at the foot of the 
Btohe wall below, the feint western wind whispering among 
the vines, were the only sounds of life for several minutes 
in the tranquil garden; the young man did not move or 
lift his head, his companion stood as if struck into marble, 
but with a most supplicatmg, sorrowful and wistful look 
upon her face as she turned toward hinu 

" You won't believe me," she said at last. " Oh, War- 
ren, do not be so unkind, do but speak to me. Say yon 
have no angry recollections of the past — say I have had 
nothing to do with your unhappiness, and you need never 



THE SUTHERLAND8. 461 

speak to me again ; you can forget I am alive, you shall 
not see me while you live — ^you shall not hear my name 
again." 

A low groan was the only answer ; and throwing herself 
upon her knees beside him, she clasped her hands upon his 
arm and cried : 

•' Oh, Warren, do not be unforgiving ! Think how long 
it is ! Think how I have suffered ! My pride is dead — 
long, long ago, ever since I asked you to forgive me first. 
You did not answer my poor letter then — you will not 
answer now. Oh, oh, this is worst of all ! On my knees, 
Warren — after five dreadful years of penance, five years of 
labor, and loneliness, and wretchedness — I ask you to 
forgive me, to say you are not angry, and you will not 
answer." 

"Yes, Georgy," he said, slowly raising his head, but 
turning it fi-om her, "yes, I will answer you. I have 
nothing to forgive — it is aU past long ago. I have forgiven 
you and prayed for you ever since we parted. I do not 
blame you, believe me, I do not blame you." 

" But you do not love me," she murmured, bursting into 
tears, and burying her face in her hands. 

" I have prayed God I might not every day since last 
I looked into your face," he said, huskily and low. 

" You had no right to pray that — you had no right to 
put me out of your heart," she cried, starting up and 
tummg from him. 

" No right, when you had forgotten me, when you were 
given to another ?" 

'* Warren, you cannot think, you did not dream" 



i62 THE 8UTHEBLANDS. • 

" Did not dream ? What are you saybg ? — ^be quick,** he 
exclaimed hurriedly, with a startled, strange look toward 
her, as he pressed his hand upon his heart and gasped for 
breath. 

" You did not dream I could '* 

" Georgy — ^the truth — quick. Sir Charles ** 



" I have never seen him since the day he told me you hard 
sailed." 

" The mamage, then " 

"He was married three months after. What, do you 
doubt — do you not believe me I Warren, you are not 
generous. I have never doubted you through all your 
cruel silence. I know I deserved that; but I do not 
deserve this?^ 

" Georgy, do not reproach me ;» have I not been pun- 
ished bitterly enough ? Tell me if you can forgive, and if 
I may believe this is not some wild, unreal dream !" 

It was no dream : looking into the beautiful dark eyes he 
had loved so long and so long striven to forget, clasping in 
his own the hand he had never hoped to touch again on 
earth, WaiTen Sutherland's dead and hopeless heart awoke 
anew to living warmth. The long years of resignation that 
he had offered to heaven were the safest, fittest preparation 
for a bliss that too often proves a snare ; a still, calm, deep 
happiness had come on earth to crown his patience, when 
he had only hoped for it in heaven — a happiness for which 
he had sacrificed no duty, and for which he had not even 
asked; it was purely the gift of the Master for whom he 
had renounced it, and it bound him to His service by 
doable ties of gratefulness. 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 463 

The wisdom of the children of this world stood in strange 
contrast at that moment with the wisdom of the children of 
light : the one, confomided, thwarted, blasted ; the other, 
crowned, rewarded, blessed. 



"But, Geougy, I cannot take you home to England;" 
and Warren's smile was tenderer and sadder than lover's 
smile had ever been before. " Can you give up home 
for me ?" 

"I have no home, there or anywhere, except as you 
shall give me one,*' she said. "I have been orphaned, 
impoverished, expatriated too long to dictate my terms. 
Anywhere, Warren, so long as you do not give me up 
again." 

" Then you will come to the Parsonage as soon as it is 
finished ?»' 

"Oh, yes," said Georgy simply. "I shall count the 
days till you come back for me." 

" They shall not be long, my dearest." 

" But Laura — you have not told me about Laura. Is she 
there ? Has she forgotten me ?" 

" Wait till to-morrow," Warren said quietly. " There is 
so much to tell ; tell me of yourself to-night." 

And so it happened, that the first hours of their nem 
happiness were not stained with the sadness the recital of 
poor Laura's story must have brough^ to both. Georgy'a 
story, full of stem discipline, heavy sorrow, deep humilia- 
tion, was a sad one ; but it fell isx short of the onutterablq 



464 THE SUTUEBLiNDS. 

anguish of poor Laura's. The one had been punished 
bitterly for her pride, and all the errors of her girlhood ; 

« 

but, chafitened, humbled, conquered, she had at last, with 
saddened but earnest eyes, seen the heavy cloud lift and the 
future calm before her: but for the other, what future 
could come after that awftd night but a ftiture of endurance, 
submission, death ? God help her ! 

She had not rebelled. When Warren first found her, 
bending over the poor mother whose long trial had just 
ended, and whose night of unconsciousness had just begun, 
and heard, from the lips of the horror-struck servants that 
Larry lay dead below the rocks on which poor Nattee had 
met her cruel fate, he stood parayzled at the sight of her 
tearless composure. Not a tear, not a murmur, not a sha- 
dow of oblivion. 

This unnatural calmness must give way in time, he 
thought, as he watched her with yearning tenderness. But 
it never did give way. The first terrible weeks of desola- 
tion passed, and then the longer months of solitude, and 
still it never altered. Too quiet for despair, too marvellouB 
for resignation ; she breathes the air of heaven already, he 
thought ; the angels have their arms about her, they are 
leading her softly away. One burst of grief, one human 
cry of pain, Warren would have given worlds to hear; 
remembering his own despair at the time of his great trial, 
his own ungovernable anguish, he could not believe her 
strength could so exceed his own. But it was a different 
trial, and a different strength ; his strength was for life and 
hers was for death ; the end was determined of God, each 
sorrow had its allotted outlet. 



THE StTTHERLAITDS. 4S5 

A strange household that was, that went its silent ways 
within those gloomy walls. The old man, blasted forever 
in the sight of men, was yet suffered to live unmolested, 
shunning and dreading those he met, yet safe from all but 
their execration and contempt. The foi*m of a trial, indeed, 
had been passed through, but in those colonial days^ the 
administration of justice was but an exceptional and uncer- 
tain thing ; irregularity and tardiness characterized all the 
courts of law ; the tribunal of the mother country seemed 
almost as distant and as vague as that of Heaven, and was 
not much more regarded, so that corruption and dishonesty 
frequented very high places without putting themselves in 
any danger of arrest, and equity and justice, indeed, seemed 
fallen in the streets. The high position, great wealth and 
extended influence of the Sutherland family, readily ex- 
plained the extraordinary result of this trial; popular 
indignation was not heard of in those days, when we sucked 
the breasts of kings, when free and righteous Albion held 
the scales in which our justice was meted out to us ; the 
people, whose blood had run cold at the old man's horrid 
crime, could now warm it at the fire of their righteous 
indignation. 

Ralph Sutherland was convicted of the murder of his 
slave, and was sentenced, for the remainder of his life, to 
wear about his neck a halter, and to appear once every 
year before the assembled legal body of the province. But 
to give this mockery of condemnation a show of terror, and 
to satisfy the instinct that demanded blood for blood, a 
most extraordinary clause was inserted, providing that, if 
the accused should reach the age of ninety-nine, he then 

20* 



4b66 THE SUTHEBLANDB. 

should suffer Hie extreme penalty of the law, and be hung 
by the neck till dead. 

No doubt the old man breathed freer when he heard his 
sentence, and felt that life was sweet on any terms ; no 
doubt he felt a feint restoration of hope when he found that 
the bitterness of death was passed and that he was assured 



of life. But his hope of satisfaction in it must have been 
short lived; it seemed to grow a heavier burden to him 
every day. He noticed no member of his household, he 
could be made to feel no interest in the management of his 
estate ; it was not blankness and apathy, it was something 
infinitely worse to bear, it was the dread, clear certainty 
that nothing now could yield him profit, pleasure or ame- 
lioration of his pain. 

The affairs about which he had once been so inexorably 
exact, were now utterly neglected and abandoned ; if it had 
not been for Warren's persuasion and influence, not a slave 
except Rube would have remained to work the farm. As 
it was, since that dreadful night, not one of them could be 
made to sleep under the haunted roof A neighboring 
&rmhouse was repaired and rudely furnished for them, 
where they slept and took their meals, doing their work 
very much at their own option and according to their own 
judgment. Little Steady was the only assistant Laura had 
in the duties of the household. Superstition and remorse 
had aided selfishness effectually, and Salome had been the 
first to desert the roof that had so long sheltered and pro^ 
tected her. 

The old man saw the breaking up his household and the 
scattierinc^ of his sei^vants with simple unconcei*n. AJ] 



THE SUTHEBLANDS. 467 

Ugliness and vindictiveness of temper were gone ; they 
would have given an animation to his dead life which would 
have ameliorated its heavy burden. It was impossible to 
think, either, that his mind had received any damage from 
the shock of his son's d^ath and his own revolting crime, 
for his faculties seemed all unimpaired, his memory vigo* 
rous, and his judgment clear. No dullness or oblivion had 
fallen to take the edge off of his punishment, no paralysis 
of the mind, no morbid melancholy, even, dimming the 
consciousness of what he had done and what he must 
endure, or diverting it into one distorted and arbitrary 
channel, but with acute possession of intelligence and reason, 
and with strangely sustained endurance, he saw his wrecked 
and blasted fortunes in the fullest, strongest light. Re- 
morse—not violent, passionate, self-destructive and exhaust- 
ing, but remorse that grew upon him, slow, steady, strong, 
fastening itself upon his soul, fitting itself into it, binding 
itself about it, this remorse was his companion night and 
day. His pain of mind was not intense nor racking enough 
to wear his body out, and his body, as yet, refused to 
prey upon his mind. The blankness and desolation of 
the present, the blackness and shamefuluess of the past, 
the awfulness of the future, these he saw with eyes made 
clear alid strong for the perfection of his punishment. 

No groan, no transport of remorse escaped him. Some- 
times, from the depths of his strange eye, "Warren caught 
a gleam that made him shudder ; but he could not preach 
repentance to him; this was a soul beyond his cure, beyond 
his care. God alone was preacher, pastor, now. 

X strange household, indeed, from the stricken, speech- 



468 THE SUTHEBLANDS. 

less old man who had once 'been its despot, to the thonght- 
ful, silent child, who was now its only servitor. The fair 
pale girl who stole like a shadow from room to room, now 
bending over the smitten and unconscious mother in her 
helpless imbecility, now following with womanly gentleness 
and consolation, the wayward steps of the old man, or min- 
istering with silent and sisterly tenderness to the unselfish 
wants of her sad and silent brother — one and all attempted 
no disguise of cheerfulness, but trusted to Heaven to 
receive instead their patient resignation. 

It seemed, indeed, as if but little separated them from 
the silent realm of waiting spirits, and when first the poor 
mother,, and then her sad attendant, were laid in the little 
churchyard, with Larry beside them, and with Nattee at 
their feet, there were no tears shed over them by those' 
lefk behind ; Steady's eyes grew thoughtfuUer and deeper, 
and Warren's fece grew paler and more saintly, but the 
old man did not change, and the household ways moved 
on unaltered. 

Summer shed its blossoms and winter spread its snows 
again and again over the gloomy house, but brought few 
other changes to the silent trio within. The discovery 
tiiat, instead of being penniless wanderers, he and Laura 
had long been the heirs of almost princely wealth, came 
too late to Warren to bring him anything but pain. It 
was something more to estrange him from his uncle, and it 
gave him another regret for home, and a new pang for 
poor Laura's blighted life. The pleasures and possessions 
of this world never could entice him again, but they could 
encumber him with cares and vexations manifold, and it 



THE BTJTHESLANDS 469 

was with a very sad and unwillmg heart that he left his 
mountain home, in the third June after Laura's death, and 
entered again, for the first time, the busy haunts of worldly 
men. 

It seemed incredible to him that it was only five years 
since he had left England and been secluded in that wild 
region to which he had consecrated his life and talents ; his 
whole life, his entire existence, seem bounded by those 
blue peaks; all beyond, all that had come before, was 
misty and unreal. There was another life outside them he 
began to see. There were beautiftil women, strong-souled, 
grand and earnest men, there were intellect, luxury, refine- 
ment, from which he had been cut off so long they had 
become but names to him. He appreciated and enjoyed 
them, they answered to what was in himself unchanged, 
but they could not tempt him away from the post he had 
resolved to hold through life. Those few sheep in the wil- 
derness were his dearest care, those lonely graves upon the 
hillside marked his real home. 

And when, in the soft twilight of that beautiful June day, 
the chastening angel, whose heavy hand he had felt so long, 
led back to him his early, only love, saddened, purified, 
ennobled, her beautiful brows crowned with the same vir- 
tues he had striven to win, her eyes turned forever from 
the world in which he had thought her lost, her heart true 
to nim through all — ^he only sunk a moment, stimned by 
the greatness of his hai)piness, then rose stronger manlier 
more earnest. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

BALPH SOTHKBT.ANP'S HALTEB. 

"Long die thy happy days before thy death !'' 

Richard III. 

Thb years came and went, with no giddy swiftness, no 
hurrying tumult, in Warren and Georgy's mountain home, 
but cahnly, goldenly, tranquilly, rich with the "blessing of 
peace" with which they had begun. Children grew up 
around them, plans prospered in their hands, duties turned 
to pleasures, pleasures were sanctified by the benediction 
of heaven, and the few sorrows that fell upon their path, 
shadowed lightly but did not darken it. 

But gloomier and most sombre by contrast was the dark 
home where Ralph Sutherland dragged out the weary 
years. Almost daily "Warren went there, and Georgy's 
womanly care and thought showed itself in a thousand ways 
about the old house: she was the nearest approach to a 
mistress that Steady had, and Steady would never have 
been content if she had had no one to obey. Georgy never 
oould quite understand why "Warren had been so resolute 
not to make that their home — it seemed so cruel to leave the 
old man there with his single faithful little maid. But it 
would have been crueller, "Warren knew, to have chained a 
fresh, elastic life within that dreary shade — ^to have brought 
up children under the blight and mildew of that gloomy 

470 



THB STJTHBBLANDS, 471 

roof. He never could shake off the oppression that the 
approach to that house occasioned ; to the latest day of his 
life, he never entered it but with a shudder, and never left 
it but with a feeling of relief. He wondered as he watched 
his little children play fearlessly about the deserted rooms, 
and dance up and down the darkened hall. Poor Larry! 
whose sons and daughters should have frolicked there I 

If the old man's life had an interest, it was in listening 
for the patter of those little feet. True to his old habit, he 
never would look up or notice them, while they struggled 
at the lock or romped across the room, but only turned his 
eyes upon them when they climbed his knee or hung around 
his chair. He never laid his hand upon their heads, or in 
any manner ever caressed or played with them: it was 
wonderful that they cared to be with him, used as they 
were to endearments and indulgences from every other 
hand. 

But there was a charm in the seclusion of the old house, 
in its shut-up rooms, its musty pantries, its unexplored 
recesses and retreats. That was not all that drew them 
toward it, though. They would follow the old man about 
the fields for hours, or, in the dim twihght, sit clustering 
about his feet, chatting childishly and harmlessly, wreathing 
their baby hopes and fears and pleasures around the grim 
old shattered trunk to which they had attached themselves. 
Unmoved and silent, though, while the young tendrils km't 
themselves about him: he never told them stories or en- 
ticed their confidence, he only looked at them with his 
strange attentive eye, and let them pour out their childish 
hearts unchecked. 



472 TUE SUTHESLAND8. 

But there was a blot upon this mter course, a i)oison in 
this, his nearest approach to pleasure. Continually they 
whispered, when they climbed his knee and hung about 
him — 

" Why do you always wear this cord around your neck, 
nd why do you hide it so ?" 

The touch of their innocent hands upon this token of his 
crime would seem to move him more than anything else had 
ever done. He would put them off his lap, hurriedly disen- 
gage their arms from around his neck, and walk unsteadily 
up and down the room, then turn perhaps and leave them 
for the remainder of the day. It seemed a matter of indif- 
ference to him that his neighbors shunned and feared him — 
that, for weeks together, no stranger would come neai his 
house — ^that when he walked abroad, the very children 
shrunk away in awe. No emotion seemed to be awakened 
in his mind when stories of the people's superstitions re- 
garding him and his grim abode came sometimes to his 
ears. The country people would walk miles around to 
avoid passing within earshot of it. Ghosts, they believed, 
were its habitual tenants : poor murdered Nattee, chained 
to her ghastly horse, dashed nightly past the old man's 
window — ^the clatter of his hoofs upon the j-ocks reechoed 
there the whole night long — a pale bride, with her white 
veil drooping, and her hands clasped mournfully, wandered 
moaning through the vacant rooms; the maniac mother, 
beating upon her breast, pierced the air with shrieks of 
agony, bewailing her lost son. 

The old man heard these stories and knew this belief but 
they never seemed to give him one pang more' or less^-the 



THE 8TJTHEBLANDS. 473 

omly earthly or superhuman agency that had power to move 
him, were those baby hands about his neck. Whole days 
together he would exclude them from his presence; and 
when, at length, he readmitted them, with unerring instinct 
they would clamor for his knee, and dart, perhaps, before 
he could arrest their eager fingers, upon this mysterious 
token. It was in vain that he hid it deep beneath his gar- 
ments — that he taxed his ingenuity to conceal it from their 
touch : a nestling head would press against it, and a curious 
hand would be thrust in to drag it to the light : 

" Why do you wear this always round your neck, and 
why do you hide it so ?" 

But the children grew into youths and maidens — some 
married and went to distant homes, and some lay down to 
rest in narrower but stiller homes in the churchyard on the 
hill ; and yet the old man's breath was even and his eye 
unclouded. Changes, such as few men live to seo, passed 
upon those around, and left him untouched. H^ saw the 
young let go their eager hold on life, and lay down dumb 
in death ; he saw the old sink quietly into waitin/j graves, 
and the middle-aged give grudgingly up their caroful idols, 
a^d obey God's summons. He saw revolutions convulse the 
State, a republic born, a nation started into life, wars rage 
and cease, great names made, and great men rise, and reign, 
and die ; and still his worthless blank dead life clung round 
Iiim — still his dreary burden must be carried. 

The slow years grew heavier and slower, as thoy neared 
that once distant goal ; each day had its own dire, dis- 
tinct, increasing weight of dread ; he felt life enough in 
his pulses to carry him beyond that point— vitality enough 



474 THB STJTHESLAND8. 

to hold him in the flesh, till Justice should have had her 
due. 

But he need not have feared : men had forgotten, if God 
had not. A new government held the reins — a new gene- 
ration had arisen — ^the old man and his crime were things 
long buried in the past. In the hurry and tumult of the 
present, old reckonings were lost sight of, old promises 
were obliterated : the appointed period of retribution came 
and passed, and Ralph Sutherland died quietly in his bed, 
undisturbed oi men, and only judged of God, in the 'hun- 
dredth year of his strange and sinful life. 

Note. — ^The extraordinary sentence passed upon the murderer, his 
strangely extended life, and the manner of his victim*s death, are tradi* 
tions fully credited and widely diffused in the locality described. The 
author does not vcuch for their truth, but there are many, better ip* 
formed, who do. 



THE END* 



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